


Poetic Justice

by Miss_Snazzy



Series: The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel [2]
Category: Supernatural, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bella angsts over Edward, Crossover, F/M, First Hunting Trip, New Moon AU, Original Character Death(s), Slow Build, Supernatural: Season 3 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:41:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Snazzy/pseuds/Miss_Snazzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three boys have gone missing in the last month, seemingly without a trace.  It's up to Bella and the brothers to figure out why.  Meanwhile, Bella struggles with her new life outside of Forks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Spokane, Washington**

Dean walked passed me and threw his bags onto one of the beds, before reclining back against the headboard and grabbing the remote for the small black television. He switched it on and leisurely began to surf through the channels.

With tentative steps, I moved into the room and took a moment to survey my surroundings. The weathered floral print seemed to fit the cheap motel stereotype. I wondered how the boys managed to afford a room at all with their unconventional career. Did they take the odd menial job every now and then, or was someone else funding their trips?

There were only two beds and with the size of the brothers, I didn't think they'd be sharing with each other. I stood there frowning in indecision for a moment, when I noticed a small cot pressed into the corner. Sighing in relief, I tossed my bag on top of it and took a seat. Sam joined us not long after, dropping his own bag on the floor before setting up his laptop on the small desk.

"A little early for porn, isn't it Sammy?" Dean asked.

I shot a quick glance at Sam, blushing even as he rolled his eyes in exasperation. He wasn't really watching porn, was he?

"I'm not _you_ , Dean. I can think about something other than sex for five minutes," Sam replied.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot that you were a chick," Dean smirked.

"Ha ha. Funny," Sam said sarcastically.

"Do you guys always banter like this?" I asked, wondering how two men that hunted the supernatural for a living could seem so...childish.

"Ugh. Another bookworm," Dean groused.

"What?"

"Who says 'banter' anymore?" Dean snickered, shaking his head.

I opened my mouth to reply, but Sam cut in.

"It's called proper English."

" _It's called_ being a Bookworm."

I rolled my eyes, reminded of the kids who used to give me a hard time when I was little for reading so much. It seems that no matter how old I get, there will always be someone there trying to make me feel bad for it.

Sam sighed, apparently just as fed up as I was. Ignoring Dean's teasing, he returned his attention to his laptop. Now that Dean had brought it up, I was curious about what Sam was doing on there. I didn't think he was looking at something like porn, but Dean's comment suggested that Sam didn't spend much time surfing the web without purpose.

"I'm looking up local legends, disappearances—anything out of the ordinary," Sam explained, noticing my stare.

"What for?" Dean asked, finally looking away from the television screen. "In case you forgot, we already have a job," Dean reminded him, sending a pointed look at me.

I looked down at my hands, unnerved by his reference to my situation. I knew they did stuff like this all the time, but being called a 'job' just sounded so impersonal. I found myself wondering how they had become hunters in the first place. Were they doing this to help people, or simply for the _joy_ of killing?

Thinking about Edward and the Cullens, I hoped it was the former.

"Well, Victoria isn't going to walk right in here and let us shoot her, is she? As long as she thinks we're hunting her, she isn't going to risk it," Sam explained.

"So you want to create a false sense of security?" I asked.

"If she thinks we've forgotten about her, she might try to make a move on you. We need to draw her out."

"I'm bait, then?" I asked, not particularly surprised.

"That's right, Sweet Cheeks," Dean chimed in with a smirk.

"Okay," I sighed. I knew they didn't really need my permission, but I wanted them to know that I was willing to do whatever it took to stop her. "What do we do till then?"

"Continue on like usual. Hunt things."

"Oh. Like what?" I asked curiously, wondering what else was out there.

"We'll hunt whatever nasty bastards we come across and _you_ will stay out of the way," Dean stated seriously, sidestepping my question.

"I might be able to help..." I pointed out. I may not be a hunter, but there had to be _something_ I could do.

"No, you won't. You'll just get in the way. We can't do our jobs if we're distracted."

I knew Dean didn't really mean anything by it, but my chest clenched painfully at the reminder that I was just a _distraction_. Edward had said his kind were easily distracted. It was probably amazing that I had managed to keep his interest for so long.

 _And he called humans fickle_ , I thought wryly.

"He's right, Bella," Sam added apologetically.

"Yeah..." I exhaled a shaky breath, willing myself to remain calm. I needed to stop thinking about him. "I'm just gonna...use the bathroom."

After quietly locking myself in and setting the lid down, I took a seat on the toilet, letting my head fall into my hands.

 _I can't keep doing this_ , I thought, disgusted with myself.

I couldn't seem to get through five minutes of conversation before something set me off. There were so many words, phrases, and experiences I already had to avoid because they worked like triggers for my pain. I didn't have PTSD and in the grand scheme of things, what I went through wasn't the worst that could've happened. Even if Edward and his family no longer wanted me, at least they were alive somewhere, doing what makes them happy. I needed to _suck it up_ and stop feeling sorry for myself.

How could I expect the Winchesters to take me seriously if I couldn't even do that myself?

Hiding my emotions would be easier said than done, but I knew I needed to try for the sake of everyone I cared for.

I opened the door and slipped out of the bathroom, hoping the Winchesters didn't find anything odd about my quick moment alone. Dean had abandoned his spot on the bed and was now looking over Sam's shoulder at the laptop.

I debated what to do, before settling for taking my spot back on the cot. I was curious about whatever they were looking at, but I didn't want to cross any boundaries.

"How many victims?" Dean asked.

"Three in the last month," Sam answered.

My blood ran cold at their words. Were we too late? Had Victoria taken another in her quest to kill me? Did she spare the time to go even further and killed my loved ones too? Charlie, Renee, and Phil—three victims. I hadn't spoken to Renee in weeks and Victoria could've come for Charlie minutes after I left.

The brothers continued on, oblivious to my sudden worry.

"Does it say how?"

"No... It just says the kids went missing. No sign of a struggle, all of their stuff left untouched. Not a single witness. It's like they vanished into thin air."

Dean rubbed his face, watching Sam continue to scroll through whatever articles he had drawn up. The relief at knowing Charlie, Renee, and Phil were safe was bittersweet. I felt like I was going to be sick.

_No sign of a struggle._

That was probably because there wasn't one. Victoria would've had their necks snapped before they even had the time to scream. It seemed a bit odd though, imagining Victoria being so clean and careful. The last time I had saw her, she appeared almost wild and her former coven hadn't exactly been _clean_ when feeding in Forks.

"Do the kids have anything in common?"

"They were all boys. Different ages. It seems that's as far as the similarities go."

"Looks like we've got ourselves a man-hating monster," Dean announced, leaving Sam's side and grabbing his duffle bag.

"I don't know. Although they range from kindergarten to high school, none of them were adults. Looks like this thing—whatever it is—is only targeting kids," Sam argued.

"We sure this isn't your run-of-the-mill psychopath?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not really, but it can't hurt to check," Sam replied with a frown.

"Right," Dean agreed, pulling a couple guns out of his bag and a rag. "We're already here anyway. Besides, we need something to keep us busy while we wait for that redheaded bitch—"

"Could it be her?"

My voice was quiet, as I finally asked the question whose answer had my mouth filling with bile since I walked out of the bathroom. The urge to rush back in and lean over the toilet had grown while they discussed their new case.

"Who—Victoria?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," I nodded, worrying my bottom lip while I waited for an answer.

"Nah," Dean finally replied, his attention focused on cleaning one of his guns. "Like we said before, we've been tracking that redheaded bitch. She's been feeding in Seattle, not Spokane."

I nodded again, diverting my gaze as a wave of disgust for myself washed over me along with relief.

Dean retreated into the bathroom with his duffle bag and Sam put his laptop away before reaching for his.

"So... What are you guys going to do?" I asked curiously, watching Sam rifle through his bag.

"Question the families of the victims, see if we can find any clues," Sam replied.

"And...me?"

"You'll wait here."

I turned toward the bathroom, raising an eyebrow at the sight of Dean standing in the doorway, wearing a suit and tie. The debonair smile on his face as he adjusted his tie made my cheeks heat—an involuntary reaction I was hoping to avoid while on this little road trip. While I had noticed his attractiveness when we first met, I was annoyed to realize he looked just as good in formal attire. Different and a little off without his leather jacket, but still good.

Regardless, I knew there was no point in acknowledging things like that. They were only putting up with me for a chance to kill Victoria and as soon as she was taken care of, I would be left back in Forks to wallow.

Sam offered me a timid smile as he slipped by us and entered the bathroom with what I assumed would be a suit similar to Dean's.

"What about Victoria?" I finally asked, recovering from my moment of silence.

"What about her?" Dean's eyebrow rose.

"What if she comes for me while you two are gone?"

Dean waved his hand dismissively. I couldn't tell whether he was being cocky or stupid with his lack of concern.

"She has a point, Dean. Maybe she should come along..." Sam admitted reluctantly, his voice slightly muffled behind the closed door.

Sam reentered the room in much the same way Dean had, almost mimicking his brother's fussing perfectly as he straightened his tie. It was kind of cute, actually.

Dean looked over at Sam and some sort of silent conversation seemed to pass. I sighed to myself, wondering if I would always be surrounded by secrets. The Cullens used to do the same thing to me, always underestimating what I could handle.

"Fine. But the moment things go sour, she's going right back here," Dean relented. He turned his gaze on me. "If we tell you to do something—no matter what it is—you do it. Even if we say to run," he instructed seriously.

"Okay," I agreed eagerly, wanting to be anywhere but stuck in this hotel room, possibly waiting for my death. If I were being truly honest, I was also really curious about what else was out there besides vampires. After watching them take down Laurent so easily, I wanted to see how they handled other creatures.

...

"Remind me why we brought her along?" Dean asked, grimacing over his shoulder at me.

"Because there's a homicidal vampire after me,'' I interjected dryly, annoyed that he was trying to talk over me again.

Dean huffed and I tried to restrain myself from rolling my eyes as Sam ringed the doorbell. After a few moments, a middle-aged woman answered the door. Her light brown hair was rumpled and she wasn't wearing make-up, despite the fact that it was already well into the afternoon. By the robe she had half-hazardly pulled on over her clothes, I would guess she had been in bed all day.

"Good afternoon Mrs. Clancy, we're agents Angus and Young. We're here to ask you a few questions about your son."

Mrs. Clancy squinted at them, barely glancing at the badges they flashed. Her gaze flicked to me and I had to resist the urge to flinch at the look in her eyes—so empty and listless.

"This is our intern, Miss Sullivan," Dean explained, noticing.

Mrs. Clancy nodded absently as she mumbled, "Come in."

The brothers exchanged a glance as they followed her, leaving me to pull up the rear. I shut the door behind us quietly, unwilling to disturb the strange calm that had settled over this woman.

Mrs. Clancy led us into a kitchen that looked worse for wear and slumped into a seat at the table. The brothers did the same, but I opted to remain standing near the wall. There was something particularly unsettling about this woman. Besides, I figured it would be good to distance myself since I was supposedly here to observe.

"Mrs. Clancy, we know this must be a difficult time for you, but anything you can tell us about your son's disappearance could prove useful," Sam began sympathetically.

"I've already told everything I know to the police," Mrs. Clancy muttered, picking at her nails.

"Humor us," Dean insisted.

Mrs. Clancy sighed, everything about her ringing with defeat.

"I dropped Joseph off at school and went to work. I came home right after I got off. I thought he must've been at a friend's house, but when it got late and he still wasn't home, I got worried," she began tiredly.

"What time do you usually get off work?"

"Around two thirty."

"And when does Joseph usually come home?"

"Sometime between three thirty and four. Unless he's with his friends," Mrs. Clancy explained, adding the last part absently.

"Was he supposed to be with his friends that day, Mrs. Clancy?" Dean asked.

"No," she shook her head, sighing. "Not that I know of."

Mrs. Clancy moved her attention from her nails to a loose thread on her robe. I watched her pick at it, giving it more focus than she had the conversation thus far.

"Does Joseph have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt him?"

"Not that I know of," Mrs. Clancy repeated quietly, pulling on the thread a little harder.

I glanced around the room, pausing to stare at the dirty pots in the sink and the garbage piling up on the trash can. Mrs. Clancy's kitchen was a wreck, as if she hadn't bothered to clean in weeks. I didn't fault her that—I couldn't imagine having the energy to do meaningless chores when your son was missing. Still, I wondered if there was anyone helping her, if only to lend some comfort.

An overturned picture frame on the counter caught my eye and although I couldn't see what was on the other side, I had an idea.

"Where is Mr. Clancy?"

The brothers looked at me in surprise—I was only supposed to observe. I wasn't sure what had made me interrupt them. I just had a feeling that the answer to that question would be important.

When Mrs. Clancy's fussing suddenly stopped, I thought I might have been right.

"Joseph isn't here right now," she replied in a cold voice.

"You named your son after your husband?"

Despite the fact that Sam had asked the question, Mrs. Clancy continued to stare at me.

"Joseph was the spitting image of his father," Mrs. Clancy explained dismissively, but I could see an undercurrent of another emotion there.

"We would like to speak to Mr. Clancy as well. Do you know where he is or when he'll be back?" Sam asked calmly, noticing her failure to answer when I had asked.

Mrs. Clancy resumed picking at her clothes again, but she did answer this time.

"Catacombs—on South Monroe Street."

...

"There's something off about that woman," Dean proclaimed as he started the car.

"She did just lose her son," Sam reasoned.

"I agree with Dean. There _was_ something off about her."

They glanced back at me, but I didn't worry if I had overstepped my boundaries this time. There were lives at stake and if I could offer some insight—or just a different pair of eyes—I would. As it was, Dean's expression looked more triumphant than annoyed.

"See?" Dean smirked.

Sam rolled his eyes, probably thinking about how little Dean had thought of my opinion before now. We shared a small smile—knowing that we were both thinking along the same lines.

"Mr. Clancy sounds kind of shady," Sam offered.

"She didn't look very happy when I mentioned him," I noted.

"Well, let's pay him a visit then," Dean said, before adding in a spooky voice, "In the _Catacombs_."

The Catacombs—as it turns out—was a pub that had been made from the old boiler room of a hotel. The brick interior had an almost hunting lodge feel to it. At least, that's what I gathered from the information posted on the door and quick glances through the window.

While I knew the brothers wouldn't have any trouble getting into the bar, I didn't think I would be so lucky.

"They aren't going to let me in," I pointed out as they made to enter the building.

Dean paused to survey my appearance, and I tried not to fidget as he slowly looked me up then down.

"Probably not...if you carry yourself like that."

"What do you mean?"

"You _look_ like you're just waiting to be caught. The thing you've gotta learn Sweet Cheeks, is that with the right amount of confidence, you can fool just about anyone."

I stared back at him, considering his advice. The fact that lying came so easily to him was a little unnerving, but like with Mrs. Clancy, I didn't think I could fault him for that, especially since it was something necessary for his line of work. Besides, I really wasn't one to judge—I had told my fair share of lies since moving to Forks.

I tried to stand up straighter, but I knew the effort was pointless. While the brothers were dressed in suits, I was wearing an ordinary pair of jeans and a sweater. I hadn't known I would need disguises, otherwise I might've actually packed some of the clothes Alice left me. The only way I would ever wear those would be for dress-up anyway.

My shoulders sagged at the reminder of my ex-best friend and I could hear Dean sigh as I deflated right before his eyes. Although I seemed able to think their names without completely breaking down, it still hurt to remember them. I didn't think I would ever get over them and that realization was even more painful.

"Come on," Dean said finally. "Can't hurt to try."

Dean walked in the door first, holding it open as I followed, and leaving Sam to bring up the rear. I offered him a small smile in thanks, earning a subtle quirk of his lips in return. I followed him as he approached the bar counter.

"What can I do for you boys?" the bartender smiled salaciously, not so subtly eying Dean.

It reminded me of the way everyone would look at Edward, except Dean didn't seem quite as put out by the attention.

"I'm Agent Young and this is my partner, Agent Angus. We're looking for a Mr. Clancy?" Dean replied with a smile.

I wasn't surprised to find myself excluded again.

"Over there, Sugar." The bartender nodded her head toward the end of the bar where a scruffy man sat, staring into his beer.

"Thanks."

"Can I get you anything to drink?" the bartender asked, her gaze trailing on Dean for a moment before sliding to Sam. When she noticed me, her smile slipped a little.

"How old are you, Sweetheart?" the bartender asked, analyzing my appearance.

"Twenty-one," I blurted.

Her eyebrow rose at my answer and I realized I had said the wrong thing.

"Got the I.D. to back that up?" she challenged.

"This is our intern, Miss Sullivan," Dean interjected, his smile a little forced now.

"Sorry Sugar, but she can't be in here," she addressed Dean apologetically, but I could tell it wasn't genuine.

Dean turned toward me, shrugging.

"Guess you'll have to wait outside."

I raised an eyebrow, looking at him in disbelief. While the proud part of me knew I didn't need their constant watch, were they really going to leave me out there alone?

"It's the middle of the afternoon, so you don't have to worry about Victoria," Sam pointed out quietly. "We'll be out of here before the sun goes down," he continued to assure.

Dean gestured at Sam, obviously feeling the same way. Knowing that there wasn't really any choice for me in the matter, I sighed in resignation.

"I guess I'll be outside," I conceded, lips pressed together—my best attempt at a smile that just wouldn't form.

...


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So we've got the zombie and the Stepford wife—both of which seem to know more than they're saying."

I never thought I would be here, standing outside of a pub in Spokane. It was strange to think that only yesterday, I was in Forks, trying to soothe a wounded heart and find my next hallucinogenic fix. I hadn't thought much about that, or my true intentions for being in the meadow.

Although I still had the urge to seek those blissful moments out, I knew I couldn't now. Before, when I was just killing time in a life of normalcy, I could rebel against _his_ wishes and be reckless. There was too much on the line now and though the idea of saving the ones I cared about from a possible future of death and pain by ending it myself was eerily appealing, I knew I couldn't.

So I leaned against the building, trying to keep my mind blank as I watched the people walk by. Some would offer me a small nod in passing, while others were far too self-involved to notice I was there. I sighed heavily as ten minutes turned into a half hour.

"Hello."

I started in surprise as I noticed a man standing there.

"Hello," I replied politely back.

The man was wearing a white collared shirt under a beige suit jacket and a black tie, with a pair of matching beige slacks. He was holding a briefcase in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

"Is that door locked?"

I followed his gaze to the bar behind me and shook my head.

"Nope. It's open if you want to go in," I moved further to the side, though I hadn't been blocking the door.

"Oh no, it's too early for a drink," the man smiled good-naturedly. "I was just curious why a pretty young lady such as yourself would be standing outside. Are you waiting for someone to open the door for you?" he asked curiously and with a small bit of humor, overshadowing his compliment with a question.

I focused on the latter, not entirely comfortable receiving an admiring statement from a middle-aged stranger in a new town.

"No, I'm just waiting for my friends."

"Ah, of course. Well, it was nice to meet you, Miss...?" he prompted, trailing off.

"Uh...Sullivan," I supplied, momentarily drawing a blank on the fake name Dean had given me.

The man tucked his newspaper under his other arm before offering me his hand. I slowly grasped it, wishing the brothers would finish up in there, despite this man's cordial manner.

"Terry Denasy," he grinned in return and I felt my small smile strain as he held my hand a bit longer than necessary, sweeping his thumb across my knuckles.

I heard the door open next to us, forcing Mr. Denasy to release my hand. He gave me a nod in farewell, before continuing down the street.

"What was that about?" Dean asked, watching the man turn the corner.

"I don't know," I replied honestly. "He said his name was Terry Denasy," I added.

"Derek Denasy was the second missing child. That must've been his father," Sam informed us.

"We leave you alone for five minutes, and you've already made friends with a possible killer?" Dean asked incredulously.

"First, it wasn't five minutes—it was almost an hour. Second, I didn't _make friends_ with him. He just saw me standing here and started talking."

The fact that I had barely known Dean for a day and he was already calling me a danger magnet, made it difficult to hide my annoyance.

"Whoa there. Take a chill pill, Sweet Cheeks. We said we'd be out before sundown and look," Dean pointed above us, "Sun's still up."

"I know," I sighed. "That man was just...kind of creepy."

I averted my gaze to my shoes, noting how the laces were a little loose. I would need to retie them soon.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, we didn't have much luck with Mr. Clancy," Sam offered.

"Sammy's right," Dean chimed in. "That man has less people skills than his wife."

"Is that possible?" I blurted, but instantly felt bad when I remembered why she was probably like that—she had just lost her son.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Dean replied with a roll of his eyes.

My lips quirked in return, despite my guilt.

...

"Ah, Miss Sullivan. How nice to see you again," Mr. Denasy smiled, happily.

I shifted awkwardly, uneasy over his exuberant welcome. One of the brothers cleared their throat and I was glad to see the man's attention shift to them.

"Mr. Denasy, we're agents Angus and Young, and this is our intern, Miss Sullivan."

"Yes, we've met," he cut in, looking at me with the same smile firmly in place.

"We'd like to talk to you about your son," Sam continued, gaining his attention once more.

"Oh, of course. Come on in. My wife is just getting started on dinner."

Mr. Denasy stepped aside, allowing us to file in passed him. The doorway was a little narrow with his body leaning against the door, but I managed to get by without brushing against him. He shut the door behind us and I tensed as I felt his hand at the small of my back.

"Right this way," he smiled easily, apparently seeing no problem with invading my personal space.

The brothers walked ahead of us and although I tried to move quicker to avoid his hand, Mr. Denasy managed to keep up with my pace. I was grateful when we made it to the kitchen and Mr. Denasy left my side to stand beside his wife.

"Sarah, these are agents Angus and Young, and their intern, Miss Sullivan. They want to talk to us about Derek," he informed her gently.

A woman with shoulder-length blonde curls turned away from the stove to offer us a small smile in greeting.

"Nice to meet you. Let me just finish this up and I'll meet you in the living room," she smiled apologetically, sweeping one of her curls off her forehead.

We moved to the living room and I was thankful that Dean's presence beside me kept Mr. Denasy away. Sam and Dean each took a seat on the couch, leaving me to occupy the middle. Although we were a bit close, I preferred it to standing near either of our hosts.

I looked around the room, unnerved by how orderly everything was. For the home of a five year-old, the place was remarkably clean. Even Renee had a few horror stories about my messes as a child, despite the way she described me as 'responsible to a fault' later.

"You have a lovely home, Mrs. Denasy."

"Call me Sarah," she smiled at me, clearly pleased at the compliment. "I do try to keep a steady household. Of course, with a pair of messy boys in the house—" she paused, and I watched her lips turn down. "Oh, it just hasn't been the same without our little Derek," she finished, sadly.

"Do either of you have any enemies, anyone you could think of that might have hurt your son?" Dean asked.

"Oh, heavens no! Our Derek was the sweetest thing. Terry and I are active members of the community, you know," she informed proudly. "He teaches at the local college and just yesterday, I brought the Manallos a casserole. You wouldn't believe how poorly they've been taking care of themselves since Elias disappeared," she sighed, shaking her head.

I could feel my eyebrows shooting into my hairline. Was this woman serious?

"Elias—he went missing a week before your son, didn't he?"

"Yes," Mr. Denasy confirmed. "It's such a tragic thing. I can't imagine who would want to hurt our children."

The brothers exchanged a glance before Dean spoke.

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

"How well do you know the Clancy's?" Sam asked.

"Joseph and Charlotte?" Mrs. Denasy seemed caught off guard by the question. "Not well at all."

"Their son went missing a few weeks before the Manallo's."

"I thought Joseph ran away? Do you think there's a connection between him and our son?" Mrs. Denasy asked, pressing a hand to her chest in surprise.

"Joseph Clancy was reported as missing. Why would you think he ran away?"

"Oh, you know...with a troubled teen like that, it was only a matter of time," she backtracked.

"What kind of trouble did Joseph get into?" Dean asked.

"He was caught a couple months ago—stealing alcohol from a local store," Mr. Denasy explained, his tone riddled with disappointment. "From what I've heard, he had quite a bit to drink beforehand too."

"No doubt he got that from his father." Mrs. Denasy added, "That man spends more time in a bar than his own home. And poor Charlotte! After what happened to her sister..."

"What happened to her sister?"

"She got into a car accident a month ago. It was a hit and run—the scoundrel left the poor girl in a coma. Charlotte was real broken up about it," Mrs. Denasy sighed.

The sound of a timer going off made her instantly perk up.

"Oh! The pie's done! Excuse me for a moment," she smiled apologetically at us before rushing into the kitchen.

"You'll have to excuse my wife," Mr. Denasy told us, glancing in the direction of the kitchen. "She's been cooking and cleaning almost obsessively since Derek disappeared. I think she blames herself and I guess this is her way of coping," he explained quietly.

"We understand. It's hard losing someone you care about," Sam offered, but I sensed something more than sympathy in his voice—empathy.

Sam—and possibly Dean too—had lost someone dear to him.

Dean cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.

"If you don't mind us asking, where were the two of you when Derek went missing?"

"No, I don't mind," Mr. Denasy assured. "I was in my office on campus grading papers. My wife was supposed to pick our son up from school, but her car has been acting up lately, and it wouldn't start. By the time she got to the school, Derek was gone," he sighed, looking down at his hands.

"What about the school? Did they see Derek leave?"

"We asked that too," Mr. Denasy replied. "They didn't see anything. They don't exactly watch the children get picked up. Though, in light of everything that has happened, I really think they should," he continued, his voice hardening in his first show of anger since we had arrived.

Mrs. Denasy returned then, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

"Would any of you care for some pie?" she asked, smiling widely.

Dean's eyes lit up and he opened his mouth, looking for all the world like _pie_ was the answer to everything his heart desired. Noticing Mr. Denasy's encouraging smile aimed in my direction, I was grateful when Sam spoke first.

"Thank you, but we should really be going," Sam declined politely.

Mrs. Denasy's smile didn't even falter, but I noticed the happiness in her eyes recede. It was remarkable how creepy that was—her ability to school her emotions like that. While I had been striving for control over mine, I hoped I wouldn't end up looking like _that_.

"Well, that's a shame," she stated mildly. "Either way, it was nice meeting all of you." With that, she turned around, retreating back into the kitchen without another glance.

Unfortunately for me, Mr. Denasy wasn't quite as easy to lose. Rather than allow us to show ourselves out, he opted to escort us. With Sam in front, Dean was beside me again, but I felt unnerved by Mr. Denasy's presence behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and my discomfort increased when his gaze immediately met mine. I quickly turned back around and resisted the urge to keep looking back.

"I'm sorry you couldn't stay longer. My wife's pie is quite good," Mr. Denasy spoke as we crossed the threshold. "She's won many blue ribbons," he added with a proud smile.

"I'm sure it is," Dean placated, though I thought I detected a tone of disappointment.

"Perhaps some other time," Mr. Denasy offered. "Agents, Miss Sullivan," he nodded at us, his gaze lingering a bit on me before he shut the door.

The brothers and I headed over to the car quietly, a silent understanding that we should wait until we were out of earshot before speaking.

"That was...interesting," Sam stated, breaking the silence.

"I'm not sure which one was worse..." I offered honestly, freaked out by Mrs. Denasy's scarily cheery disposition, but also unnerved by her husband.

"We should've stayed for pie," Dean sighed regretfully, as he pulled onto the road.

"Is that really all you can think about?" Sam asked incredulously.

"What? I haven't eaten all day," Dean pointed out defensively.

"We stopped at that diner in Morton, remember?"

"Yeah, _hours_ ago." Dean rolled his eyes. "How are you guys not starving?"

"I don't know... Seeing a vampire get roasted alive doesn't really lend a healthy appetite," I replied, dryly.

"Well, we're going to find something. It's too late to talk to the Manallos tonight anyway," Dean decided, pulling into the parking lot of a diner—much like the one we stopped at earlier.

I felt a flicker of homesickness, remembering how much time I used to spend in the kitchen cooking, as I realized the brothers probably lived off diner food and in turn—so would I.

 _Maybe I could talk them into getting a motel room with a kitchen next time_ , I thought hopefully.

...

"They know something."

"Dude, chew with your mouth closed," Sam complained.

Dean rolled his eyes, but complied, swallowing heavily before making a show of dabbing at his lips prissily.

"Happy now?"

"Yeah, now that there isn't food flying from your mouth, I'm ecstatic."

I tried not to snicker as I picked at my own food. I had chosen chicken—one of the things I figured that might actually be good in a place like this. Apart from the sporadic piece of gristle, it was pretty decent. As long as I picked around the bad parts, I was able to swallow it down. The fries weren't quite as disappointing, covered in this wonderful seasoning I was convinced must be laced with drugs to be so good.

Watching Sam and Dean pick at each other was very entertaining—it was almost like having dinner and a show. Growing up as an only child meant I hadn't gone through any sibling rivalries, yet seeing the brothers' easy teasing almost made me jealous.

"What about Bella? She's playing with her food. At least I'm eating mine," Dean argued.

I looked up in surprise at being mentioned.

"I'm eating," I murmured indignantly. "Just because I didn't devour half my meal in five seconds, doesn't mean I'm not."

Sam chuckled next to me, while Dean smiled sarcastically, mumbling under his breath. I thought I heard something like 'ganging up on me' but he spoke before I could ask, changing the subject back to the case.

"So we've got the zombie and the Stepford wife—both of which seem to know more than they're saying."

I pushed memories of the early days after Edward left away, unwilling to allow Dean's mention of a 'zombie' bring thoughts of my emotionless state to the forefront of my mind.

"What about the husbands?" I asked, more as a distraction from my own thoughts than anything. "What did you find out from Mr. Clancy?"

I realized neither of them had actually said anything about him, except that he didn't have the warmest personality. I hadn't pestered them about it, too distracted by my own weird interaction with Mr. Denasy.

"He wouldn't talk about it—he wouldn't talk at all, really," Sam said with a frown. "The only response we got out of him was when we mentioned his wife."

"He's avoiding her," Dean continued where Sam left off. "I talked to Melanie and she said he's been coming in there almost every morning since his son disappeared. She has to practically force the guy to leave at closing."

"Melanie?" the question slipped out, although I was pretty sure I knew who he was talking about.

"The bartender."

"Oh," I replied quietly, not sure why it really mattered to me.

"The Denasys don't seem to have the same problem," Sam noted.

"She smiled an awful lot," I added.

"Some people grieve differently," Sam defended, but even he didn't look like he believed that was it.

"There has to be a connection between them. Three kids don't just disappear," Dean reasoned, finishing the last of his fries.

"Do you think the wives are working together?" Sam asked.

"I don't know... Did the police reports say anything about searching the victims' own houses?" Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam.

"Probably not as thoroughly as we're going to," Sam sighed, easily catching on.

"You're not going to _ask_ to search their houses, are you?" I realized.

"Nope," Dean replied simply.

I sighed, wondering how many laws I would end up breaking while travelling with Sam and Dean.

...

I stood off to the side, glancing around nervously as Sam picked the lock. I couldn't stop thinking that a cop would drive by at any moment and catch us. Imagining Charlie's reaction when my mug shot reached him—which it undoubtedly would, if he had put out an APB for me—only made it worse.

"Geez Sammy, took you long enough," Dean groused as the door finally swung open.

"You do it next time then," Sam glared.

I followed Dean as he led the way into the house, hearing the door's quiet click as Sam joined us. I wasn't sure what they were looking for, but I kept my eyes peeled, regardless. Dean pulled a device out of his pocket and I watched curiously as he began slowly waving it around the room.

"What is that?" I whispered.

"EMF meter. Tells us if there's been any recent paranormal activity," Dean explained absently.

The garbled noise it made was a little loud and I worried that it would alert Mrs. Clancy to our presence.

"Is it supposed to sound like that?" I asked nervously, wondering what kind of creature it might pick up, but also worried that it might be broken.

Dean hummed in response, preoccupied with his search. The brothers moved in different directions, so I opted to look in the kitchen.

I surveyed the room, once again noting the cluttered counters and dirty dishes. My hands clenched, almost itching to clean up the place a bit. My gaze fell on the overturned frame again and I picked it up curiously.

It was just as I suspected—a picture of Mrs. Clancy and her husband, locked in a loving embrace. She looked so different from the woman I had met today—happy and so full of life. I frowned, recalling just how devastated Mrs. Clancy had looked earlier and wondered if her grief was only related to her son's disappearance.

I shook the thought away, realizing I was probably reaching. Of course it was all about her son—any mother would probably feel the same way. Well, excluding Mrs. Denasy, of course. I shuddered at the thought of that couple, not looking forward to entering their home again.

Something shifted in the corner of my eye and I whipped around, worried that I had been discovered. Nothing seemed to be different and for a moment, I wondered if I had somehow triggered another hallucination of Edward.

Although I had actively sought those moments of peace out days ago, the idea of engaging in one during my present situation, scared me. With Victoria plotting her revenge and the cause of these disappearances on the loose, I needed to remain sharp. I couldn't let myself lose touch with reality.

"Find anything?"

I jumped, covering my mouth to stifle any sound. I turned around to find Dean standing there, not so subtly smirking at the fact that he had scared me.

"Don't do that!" I whispered furiously, my heart thumping wildly.

Dean continued to smirk, obviously not repentant at all.

"We're leaving," he explained, gesturing behind him. "Come on."

I nodded, following Dean out the door without protest. I wondered how long I had been standing there thinking of Edward if they were already done searching. I figured that they must've known what to look for and therefore hadn't needed to spend quite as much time poking around.

Regardless of the reason, I was glad we hadn't stayed in there too long. Although Mr. Clancy was out—most likely at that bar—and Mrs. Clancy was asleep in her room, I kept thinking they would catch us at any moment.

We met up with Sam at the front door and quietly slipped out. The car was parked down the street, in case anyone came by and noticed it parked outside the Clancy's house. Our steps were casual but quick, and we were driving back to the hotel in no time.

"Find anything?" Dean repeated the question he had surprised me with earlier.

"Not much. I found some medical bills for a Kelly Tanner—"

"The sister?" Dean interrupted.

"Who else?" Sam countered. "Other than that...nothing. Not a single missing poster."

"Because she's given up hope?" I asked, remembering how broken she looked.

"Or because she isn't looking," Dean said.

I chewed my lip as Dean vocalized the direction my own thoughts had been taking. If he had gotten the same feeling, then maybe I wasn't seeing things that weren't there.

"She had that framed photo of her and her husband turned down," I began, ready to voice one of my theories. "I think something happened between them."

"Neither of them really showed much emotion until the other was mentioned—not even when we asked about their son," Sam added and I thought he might've been agreeing with me. "Did the EMF pick up anything?"

"Yeah," Dean confirmed. "But if a spirit was behind this, where's the body?"

"They aren't known for being neat," Sam agreed.

"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "A spirit—you mean a _ghost_ was behind this?" I asked incredulously.

Dean shrugged. "Seems like it. But they don't kill without reason and they definitely don't hide the bodies."

"Right. And if it was a spirit, what's keeping the parents safe?"

"Might be why the husband spends so much time away from home?" Dean suggested.

I frowned, not really believing that to be the reason. While I hadn't encountered ghosts before, it seemed like their separation was more personal than that.

Sam shrugged in response, obviously as lost as we were. Something seemed to be missing—some vital piece of information—and until we figured it out, we wouldn't be able to solve this mystery.

 _Mystery,_ I rolled my eyes at myself, _feels like I'm a member of the Scooby-Doo gang_.

...


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Daddy's not here to save you."

I shuffled out of the bathroom in my pajamas, pausing to toss my bag next to the cot. We hadn't really found any answers, but the brothers agreed that it was too late to keep looking. We needed more information and since we couldn't visit the Manallos until morning, they decided to head back to the motel room for some sleep. It didn't really matter to me, though I was a little apprehensive about sleeping in the same room with them tonight.

Although I had barely known them a day, I didn't think they would do anything. My worries stemmed from the realization that if I had a nightmare, they would be here to listen to me scream. Even worse, they would be privy to what they were about if I started to sleep talk.

I sighed in defeat, pulling the bedding back to slide under the covers. I knew I was going to have to sleep sometime, so there was no point in putting off the inevitable.

Sam was still doing research on his laptop, eyes focused intently on the screen, even if I heard the sporadic yawn slip out. Dean on the other hand, had his nose buried in an old journal, flipping page after page, seemingly searching for something.

Both of them had declined my offer to help, claiming that it had been a long day and I should really get some sleep. I didn't want to admit that I was unusually weary, likely having something to do with my run-in with Laurent early this morning. It seemed like ages since I had slept, though it hadn't actually been longer than usual.

Dean had been almost protective of the journal he was leafing through, tucking it away whenever I got too close. He didn't seem like the journal-keeping type, so I figured it must have belonged to someone really important to him. I wondered if the owner was also the person they had lost.

I stared up at the ceiling, not even bothering to try to sleep. I knew I wouldn't be able to anyway—not with the light on and the brothers moving about. Though they were actually being pretty quiet, I couldn't get passed my awareness that they were still awake.

With nothing to occupy my mind with—I missed the days when I could bury myself in a good book until my eyes slid shut of their own accord—I was left to dwell on unpleasant things, like Charlie. I hoped he was doing alright and not worrying himself too much over my disappearance.

The note I left him was kind of a low blow, but not in the way it was the last time I left so abruptly. Last time, I had needed to lie to his face and out of desperation, I spewed all of those lies about needing to leave him and return to Renee's. Despite the many months of peace that followed, I knew Charlie still felt poorly about what I had said.

This time was different. Instead of using Charlie's insecurities as a father against him, I had hurt myself by giving him a lie that he would probably believe immediately.

I used Edward—this time his name did make me flinch—telling Charlie that I couldn't bear to live without him anymore and planned to seek him out in Los Angeles. I knew this wouldn't stop Charlie from looking, but at least his attention would be directed toward California and not in other parts of Washington, where I would actually be.

Charlie wouldn't find any of us there and even if he did try to get in contact with the Cullens, I didn't think he would be successful. The Cullens were good at covering their tracks. They had disconnected their phone lines—something I had figured out when, in one of my weaker moments, I had tried to call them.

While it had hurt a great deal to realize none of them wanted anything to do with me at the time, I only felt worse now, knowing that they had severed all ties without even considering the consequences, should Victoria decide to come for me.

If I was truly being honest with myself, I was more angry than hurt because they had left me entirely defenseless. Without Sam and Dean, I would be dead right now.

"Thank you," I said suddenly, disrupting the silence in the room.

I felt their attention shift to me, but I kept my gaze directed at the ceiling.

"For saving me from Laurent," I continued. "I'd probably be dead right now if you hadn't."

A heavy silence followed and I wondered how often they were thanked. The idea that they drove around, risking their lives without anyone but themselves to acknowledge their actions, made me a little sad. I wasn't expecting a response. I just wanted them to know that I really appreciated what they did.

I turned on my side facing the wall, ready to actually try to sleep, if only to avoid conscious thought. Two gruff replies that might've been 'you're welcome' were the last sounds I heard before I finally fell asleep.

...

I staggered through the forest, calling out his name desperately. I refused to believe he would just leave me.

 _Unprotected_.

I swung around at the sound of the voice, searching among the trees for its source. There was nothing but that despondent shade of green, plain and relentless. A sudden flash of flames in the corner of my eye made me turn again, but once again, there was nothing.

"Edward?" I called out, pushing my way through the trees.

The branches slid across my skin, almost grabbing at me. I kept moving, wincing as they began to pierce my flesh, leaving distinct cuts. My leg snagged on something in a nearby bush and I yanked roughly, trying to free myself.

It wouldn't budge, almost as if it was surrounded by concrete. A flash of fire caught my eye again, this time coming from within the brush. I slowly pushed back the leaves, feeling nothing as my fingers were engulfed in the flames.

The bush began to shift and suddenly, I realized that it wasn't fire I was touching.

It was _hair_.

"Hello, Bella," she smiled wickedly, her easy grip on my ankle turning into a claw.

I screamed as her nails pressed into my skin.

...

" _Shit_."

I sat up suddenly, breathing deeply as I finally emerged from my nightmare.

"You okay?"

I jerked away from the voice, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear my vision. Dean was huddled over me, a weird look on his face. The realization that I must have woke him with my nightmare, made my eyes clench shut in embarrassment.

"I'm fine," I gasped, slowly regaining my breath and opening my eyes.

Dean frowned, but didn't comment. His gaze flickered over to Sam who despite having slept through the noise, appeared just as restless as Dean looked. We watched him toss and turn for a moment, a light sheen of sweat shining on his forehead in the moonlight.

"Jesus. Between the two of you, no one's ever going to get any sleep," Dean murmured gruffly.

I pushed the hair off my face, grimacing at the tangles I must have created while thrashing in my sleep.

"Sorry."

Dean raised an eyebrow at me.

"For waking you," I elaborated quietly.

Dean grunted noncommittally, moving back to his bed. With his back turned, I was able to take in his appearance in the dim light, and I blushed at the realization that he was wearing boxers with the shirt he had on earlier.

I shifted my gaze when he sat down, glancing at him out of the corner of my eyes. I was glad for the darkness, knowing he wouldn't be able to see my heated cheeks.

"So...Sam has nightmares?" I asked.

Sam groaned then, the pained noise sounding almost like a name. Dean stared at him silently for a moment before leaning back against the headboard and turning his gaze to the ceiling, much like I had earlier.

"Go back to sleep," he ordered quietly, dismissing my question.

I watched him for a moment, but his attention on the smooth tile didn't falter and I eventually mirrored his position. I didn't want to go back to sleep, knowing that I would only dream up new ways for Edward to leave or Victoria to hurt me. Either way, my dreams would be torturous.

...

I stared into my cup of coffee, blinking at the pull of the bags under my eyes. Apart from a few naps, I hadn't gotten any sleep after that nightmare. I was exhausted, but I supposed that wasn't new. I had been having nightmares for months, only now that I knew her intentions, they would feature Victoria as well.

"According to the local newspapers, there haven't been any deaths in the house—violent or otherwise," Sam informed us.

"What about the others?"

"Nope."

"Does it make a difference? If the death was violent?" I asked.

"The more violent the death, the stronger the spirit," Dean explained. "How the hell are we supposed to torch this sucker if we don't know who it is?"

"We still have the Manallos. Maybe we'll find something there?" Sam reminded him.

...

We stood on the Manallos' porch, staring at the closed door in shock. Unlike the Denasys or even the Clancys, Mr. and Mrs. Manallo hadn't been quite as receptive to us. In fact, the moment we introduced ourselves, Mrs. Manallo started sobbing about her son. Seeing his wife's distress, Mr. Manallo threatened to grab his shotgun if we didn't get off his property.

"Um...maybe we should go?" I suggested, not sure if I had imagined the cocking of a gun behind the closed door.

The three of us rushed back to Dean's car, repeatedly glancing back at the house until we had climbed in and driven away.

"Looks like we're going to have two houses to search tonight," Sam sighed.

"Well, we can't just wait around all day," Dean groused, annoyed at another dead end.

"What about the sister?" I asked suddenly, remembering our conversation with Mrs. Denasy.

"She's in a coma," Dean pointed out, obviously annoyed. "I don't think she's going to answer any of our questions.

"Maybe not," I conceded. "But didn't Mrs. Denasy say she was admitted about a month ago?"

"And the first disappearance happened a week after that—her nephew," Sam said.

"Hospital, here we come."

...

"I don't see what Kelly Tanner has to do with the missing children..."

"We're nothing if not thorough," Dean remarked with a smirk.

"Well, Dr. Fields," Sam interjected before he could reply, "any information you can give us could prove useful."

Dr. Fields nodded in resignation, beckoning us to follow. I remained behind them, trying not to snicker as Sam berated Dean.

"Do you think you could cut down on the innuendo?" Sam asked, eyebrow raised.

"Only if you think you could pull that stick out of your ass," Dean grinned.

I snorted, blushing when the sound prompted Sam and Dean to look back at me. Luckily Dr. Fields was too far ahead to notice.

"Sorry," I shrugged, still trying not to smile.

"Well, this is her room," Dr. Fields announced, drawing our attention.

Lying in a hospital bed was a woman who couldn't have been more than a year or two older than me, meaning that Mrs. Clancy would've had to have been in her teens when Kelly was born. Her hair was lighter than her sister's, but there was definitely a resemblance there.

Kelly looked almost peaceful with her eyes closed and hair fanned out across her pillow. Even with her injuries, her body radiated calm, but there was something unnatural about it—a subtle feeling I couldn't put my finger on. She looked _too_ peaceful.

"What happened to her?" Sam asked in his soft voice.

"It was a hit and run," Dr. Fields replied, confirming what Mrs. Denasy had said. "It's a miracle she survived. If Joseph and his son hadn't found her..." he trailed off, sighing.

"Joseph Clancy?" Dean verified as he moved closer to the bed.

"Yes. They were the ones to call the ambulance. Kelly was unconscious at the scene. She's been in a coma ever since."

"Will she wake up?" I asked quietly, memories of my own hospital visits making my voice soft too.

"It doesn't look good," Dr. Fields answered honestly. "I tried talking to her sister Charlotte about...alternative options, but she won't listen. Now that she's lost Joseph, I don't think she'll ever be able to accept the severity of Kelly's state," he finished sadly.

Sam thanked Dr. Fields for his time, but I wasn't paying much attention, too focused on the lack of decoration in Kelly's room. There weren't any flowers, cards, or balloons—the only thing that looked like it had been brought in was a worn book sitting beside her bed. I couldn't read the cover, but the design looked familiar—a faded orange color with people on it. I moved toward it, curious.

A throat cleared behind me, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Miss Sullivan?" Dean called, jerking his head at the door behind him where Sam and Dr. Fields were waiting.

"Sorry," I apologized, glancing back longingly at the book as I followed after him.

...

I sighed, flopping onto Dean's bed. After our trip to the hospital, the brothers had decided another talk with Mr. Clancy was in order. The man knew something and after learning that he had been the one to find Kelly, they were convinced he was the key to whatever had started the disappearances.

Since Mr. Clancy spent most of his time in that bar, they thought it prudent to drop me off beforehand. While I didn't relish the idea of waiting outside—mostly in case Mr. Denasy walked by again—I didn't like being cooped up in this motel room.

I turned on the television and flipped through the few available channels, desperate for something to distract me from my own thoughts. I didn't want to think about home, about what I had left behind or who had left _me_ behind all those months ago.

I settled on a channel playing old cartoons, hoping the bright colors and simple storylines would be a relief from my own convoluted life. The clock on the wall wasn't ticking, so I relied on the ending and beginning of different cartoon episodes to mark the passage of time.

My gaze flickered to the door more often than I would like to admit, anticipating Sam and Dean's return. I wanted to know what they had found, but I also missed their presence. They kept my mind occupied with their discussion of theories and constant sarcasm.

Realizing I could no longer rely on the television to keep my attention, I decided to take a shower. The mundane task was both refreshing and enough to stop my thoughts from straying to the past. I wrapped one of the scratchy motel towels around me, trying not to think about how clean it actually was.

I glanced around the bathroom, rolling my eyes at myself when I realized I had forgotten my bag. Now hoping that the brothers hadn't returned quite yet, I peeked out the bathroom door, and sighed in relief when I confirmed that they were still gone.

I walked out of the bathroom, glancing curiously at the blank television—I must've turned it off before getting in the shower—as I grabbed my bag and moved it onto the cot. I rifled through it, searching for a new pair of clothes to wear. Something moved in the corner of my eye and I turned my head, quickly surveying the room.

Like last night in the Clancys' house, there was nothing there. Gripping my towel tighter around my body, I took a deep breath, determined not to let myself get lost in another hallucination, if that was in fact what was happening.

I furrowed my brows, concentrating on going through my bag. Still, the distinct feeling of being watched made my skin prickle. Memories of the nights before I knew what Edward was filtered back and how even then, I had noticed the feeling, despite not knowing that he could be watching.

Reconciling the experiences made me worry, so when the feeling increased, I slowly turned around, gasping when I met the eyes of a boy standing across the room.

The boy looked younger than me, but probably only by a few years. His dark hair was similar to Sam's, though a little shorter and covering more of his eyes. His clothes matched his dark demeanor, appearing ruffled as if in a struggle.

"Who are you?" I asked.

My first thought was _vampire_ , but his eyes weren't red or gold, so I quickly dispelled that theory. His dark gaze showed recognition and I had this weird feeling that I had seen him before. When he smirked instead of answering my question, I gripped my towel tighter. I didn't know how he had gotten in here, but since the motel door was still locked—which I confirmed with a quick glance—I didn't think he had used conventional methods to get in.

"Say my name."

My eyebrows rose at the authority in his voice, along with the odd request.

"W-What?" I asked intelligently.

When he didn't do anything but continue to smirk, I began to inch my way to the door. Suddenly he was in front of me, seeming almost to flicker in and out of reality as he looked down at me. My heart beat wildly in both fear and surprise.

He grabbed my arms and pushed me into the wall with more force than he should be capable, knocking the breath from my lungs. I gasped in shock, barely managing to keep my towel up and shivering at the icy temperature of his skin.

The boy's skin was somehow colder than a vampire's, something I had once considered to be an impossible feat.

" _Say my name, Bitch_."

He continued to smirk, but there was no humor there and with our faces so close together, I could see his eyes a lot clearer. They didn't belong to a thirsty vampire, but were just as dark and filled with the kind of malice I had seen before in the ballet studio with James.

"Or I won't let you enjoy it too."

My eyes widened as his hand moved to my thigh, easily reaching my skin due to the shortness of the towel. I shuddered at the feeling of his hand creeping higher, too shocked for a moment to attempt to do anything.

His hand was sliding even higher and I grasped my towel tightly in one hand, lashing out with the other in a moment of panic.

Despite his steady grip on me, my hand moved right through him, his form dissipating like smoke before righting itself a moment later. My eyes widened at the realization that I had no way of stopping him. How could I when I couldn't even _touch_ him?

The boy didn't stop smirking, but he was glaring now, obviously unhappy with my attempt at hurting him.

"Daddy's not here to _save_ you," he hissed in my face, his wandering hand pressing harder into my thigh.

I shrieked when his nails pierced my skin, practically clawing at the flesh now. I whimpered in fear and pain as his hand inched ever closer, almost to its intended destination. A tear slid down my cheek—I was entirely helpless.

My gaze shot to the door as it suddenly caved in, revealing Dean holding a shotgun. Dean's eyes met mine for a brief second before he refocused on the boy and fired. The boy dissipated into smoke again, but surprisingly, he didn't reappear this time.

"You okay?" Dean asked, just like he had after I woke from my nightmare.

I remained in place against the wall, too stunned to move. I couldn't believe how close that was and that if Dean had come only a minute later... I shuddered at the thought and looked down in embarrassment, remembering I was still in a towel.

"Yeah," I mumbled, clenching my towel tighter around me.

I couldn't look him in the eye, not after what he had almost witnessed when he barged in. This time I grabbed my entire bag, not comfortable with being in the room with Sam—who was now closing the door—and Dean while feeling so exposed.

I entered the bathroom, quickly shutting and locking the door behind me. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, noticing my limp wet hair and wide eyes. The reality of what had just happened really registered and I leaned against the door, sliding to the floor.

I had almost been violated by a ghost. A _ghost_.

I exhaled a shaky breath, having the strange urge to laugh. There was nothing funny about what had happened, but I found myself resisting the chuckles building up within me. My chest felt too tight and my eyes were beginning to water, but I couldn't stop a snort from escaping.

Once it started I couldn't seem to make it stop, so I sat there, trying to laugh as silently as possible. I knew the brothers were probably waiting out there to talk to me and I didn't know what they would think if they heard me chortling in here.

I took a deep breath, trying to expel the strange fit of giggles while standing back up to get dressed. I grabbed the first set of clothes I touched, less caring about what I wore now with so much else on my mind.

After dropping my towel, I held in a gasp, staring at the new bruises that had formed on my skin. There were twin hand prints on either of my arms, but that wasn't what drew my attention. I was more focused on the harsh print on my thigh and the tiny holes illustrating the point of where each of his fingers had been.

I touched part of it lightly and flinched violently at the pain it elicited. I pulled on a pair of jeans more carefully than usual, wincing when I had to pull them over the mark. My thigh continued throbbing even after I finished dressing and I took a deep breath, hoping to get a handle on the pain.

When I left the bathroom, Sam and Dean were sitting on opposite beds, talking quietly to each other. The sound of the door opening drew their attention, putting an end to their conversation. Dean's gaze slid across my body, obviously assessing any damage.

I took a seat on the cot and waited for one of them to begin speaking.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"I got out of the shower and when I was looking through my bag for something to wear, he just...appeared."

"Did he...hurt you?" Dean asked uncomfortably, the purpose of his question not lost on me.

He had walked in on the ghost's hand moving under my towel, so it was only logical that he would assume...that.

"I'm fine," I answered simply, but realizing that probably wouldn't assuage his fears, I elaborated. "Just a couple bruises, but I'll heal."

Dean looked ready to press me for more information, but I spoke again before he could,

" _I'm fine_ ," I repeated, giving him a meaningful look.

His shoulders seemed to slump in relief and he gave me a sharp nod in understanding. Sam sat there, watching the exchange silently.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Sam asked gently, recognizing that this was probably a delicate conversation, even if I didn't think he had actually witnessed what was happening before they interfered. "Did he say anything?"

"He kept telling me to say his name," I replied, ignoring his first question.

"His name?" Sam asked in bewilderment. I nodded in confirmation. "Did he say anything else?"

"Yeah, he said..." I paused, grimacing as I repeated the rest of his words, "' _Or else I won't let you enjoy it too_ '."

Sam's eyebrow rose in surprise, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he realized what had been going down. Dean didn't share his brother's shock, but his distaste was more pronounced. I shifted uneasily, feeling the sudden urge to take another shower.

"Anything else?" Dean asked gruffly.

"He also told me my dad wasn't going to save me?" I answered in confusion, my response ending with a questioning lilt.

"His exact words...?" Sam prompted.

"' _Daddy's not here to save you_.'"

"Daddy's not here to save you?" Dean repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"Well, that's creepy," Dean replied, standing up and walking toward the door.

I watched him bend over and pick up a black plastic bag I hadn't noticed, something I figured one of them must have been carrying before fending off the ghost's attack. He walked back over to the bed and dumped out the contents on the bedspread, grabbing a glass bottle of coke. After popping off the top, he handed it to me.

"Thank you," I replied, grateful for the drink.

My throat seemed to ache, despite my lack of screaming during the attack.

"So...that was a ghost?" I asked, needing to confirm what I already suspected.

"Not just any ghost."

My brows furrowed, not sure what Dean meant by that.

"That was Joseph," Sam supplied.

"The Clancys' son?" I breathed in realization.

Sam handed me a missing person's flyer and sure enough, the ghost boy who had attacked me was smiling widely on it, the name _Joseph Clancy_ typed neatly below it.

"Does this mean...?"

"Joseph Clancy isn't missing—he's dead. There's a good chance the others are probably too," Dean answered bluntly.

"Oh..." I replied, not quite sure how to respond to that.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters:
> 
> -Agent Young—Dean Winchester  
> -Agent Angus—Sam Winchester  
> -Miss Sullivan—Bella Swan
> 
> Victim 1: Joseph Clancy Jr.  
> -Father—Joseph Clancy  
> -Mother—Charlotte Clancy  
> -Mother's Sister—Kelly Tanner
> 
> Victim 2: Derek Denasy  
> -Father—Terry Denasy  
> -Mother—Sarah Denasy
> 
> Victim 3: Elias Manallos  
> -Father—George Manallos  
> -Mother—Carol Manallos
> 
> -Bartender—Melanie  
> -Doctor—Fields


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, compared to everything that's out there, vampires are a cakewalk."

The brothers debated what to do next, while I remained silent in the back seat, staring at the view outside passively. Although they seemed concerned over my emotional state—if the covert glances they directed my way were any indication—there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that I wouldn't be left alone again. It had been far too easy to convince them to let me accompany them this time.

Thoughts of Victoria always remained present, but with the recent attack on my mind, my worries about her became quieter. Logically I knew that I should be more concerned about a vampire than a ghost, but I couldn't shake that feeling of helplessness with the latter.

Obviously I would be just as helpless against a vampire—more so, really—but even if I broke every bone in my body trying to break Victoria's grip, at least I would be able to _try_. With the ghost, there had been nothing, no discernable way to even attempt to escape his grasp as my hand passed through his incorporeal form.

"Apparently the Manallos are avid church-goers," Sam spoke up, drawing my attention back to their conversation. "They attend three times a week, plus Sundays," he continued.

"Tell me today is one of those days."

"Yeah. I guess they show up every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night at six," Sam supplied, reading off some notes he must have made while they were questioning people in the bar.

"Almost time then," Dean pointed out, making a couple quick turns. "Ready to break a few more laws, Bella?"

I looked up at the rearview mirror, surprised at his use of my name. He had been calling me that nickname— _Sweet Cheeks_ —for the last day and a half, undaunted by the scowl I generally wore in response. I had a feeling the move had been on purpose, as a way to pull me from my less than savory thoughts.

 _Good try_ , I thought as I sighed and returned my gaze to the window.

...

Despite Dean's attitude during the first break-in, Sam was once again the one to pick the lock. I still felt uneasy standing there while they worked, thinking about how anyone could happen upon us. Regardless of my fears, I couldn't help but watch Sam's dexterous hands, wondering if he would be willing to teach me how to do that someday.

While I didn't think Victoria would try to lock me away, it seemed like a good skill to have just in case I found myself in a tight spot.

The door opened much quicker this time, a fact Dean either didn't notice or chose to ignore as he teased Sam again. I smiled at the sound of their bickering, finding comfort in their easy and already familiar banter with each other.

I refocused on the task at hand, offering an understanding nod to each brother as they chose different parts of the house to search. Once again, I ended up in the kitchen, curious as to how the Manallos were fairing.

Although it wasn't as unkempt as the Clancys', it wasn't terribly clean like the Denasys' either. The only real mess seemed to be mountains of tissues, an obvious result of Mrs. Manallos' weeping. There was also a large pot jammed near the trashcan, almost as if someone held a personal grudge against it.

I stepped forward, curiously bending down to examine it closer. There was some sort of broth coated on the inside with bits of rancid meat stuck in the thick substance. It reminded me of one of Renee's failed cooking attempts. She had been determined to have a real luau for one of her birthdays and had therefore insisted on cooking a full pig.

I shuddered at the memory, quickly moving away from the foul stench of the pot.

There were some other dirty dishes in the sink, but nothing quite as nasty as whatever was left in that pot. After being so close to the horrible smell, it seemed almost burned in my nostrils. I rubbed my nose in disgust, retreating back into the living room.

 _I guess I know why they want to throw it out_ , I thought.

I glanced around, slightly unnerved by the silence and my inability to spot Sam or Dean. I sighed deeply, wondering if my life would always be like this. After being such a solitary person for so many years, it felt strange to constantly fear being alone.

I heard movement in the hallway, most likely from Sam or Dean. I followed quietly, still worried I would be caught by the Manallos at any moment.

"Dean?" I called in a whisper, trying to keep my voice low. "Sam?" I called a few moments later when I didn't receive a response.

I didn't check any of the rooms I passed by, assuming that if the brothers were searching in there, they wouldn't have shut the doors to do so. At least, that is what I thought until I caught the movement of a shadow beneath the door at the end of the hallway.

My heart thudded quickly in my chest as I turned the doorknob, suddenly realizing that one of the Manallos could be in there. Still, my curiosity forced me to press on when I didn't hear anything even as I started to open the door.

The room obviously belonged to a child, if the toy dinosaurs and spaceships were anything to go by. I slowly entered the room, searching for what had created the moving shadow I had seen only moments before.

The bed was covered in crumpled sheets, as if it had recently been used. The closet doors were partially open and despite my reluctance to check the dark space, I slowly slid them further down the track. I peered into the darkness, breathing a sigh of relief when nothing jumped out at me.

Another flash of movement caught my eye and I whipped around, my gaze darting around the room. I sighed when I realized what had been the cause of my unease—a slowly rotating space shuttle, dangling from a hook in the ceiling.

I glanced back at the door, wondering which brother had checked this room before me and disturbed the stillness. Finding nothing else amiss, I quickly left the room, relieved when I spotted Sam at the end of the hallway.

"Ready? The Manallos —"

Whatever Sam was about to say was cut off when the sound of jingling keys and a door being slammed interrupted the silence.

"—are here," Sam finished on a quiet groan.

My eyes widened in fear, worried over how the Manallos would react if they found us in here. After their threat of violence earlier—when all we had wanted was to ask them a few questions—I didn't think our trespassing would go over well.

Sam gestured me closer, silently asking that I follow him. He halted our progress once we reached the end of the hall, so that he could peek around the corner to make sure the coast was clear. I pressed my back against the wall, trying to keep my breathing under control.

A low mumble drifted to our ears, but neither Mr. Manallo nor his wife spoke loud enough for me to decipher their words. I tried to think of that as a good sign because that meant they weren't too close to our location.

With Sam in the lead, we slowly edged further toward the front of the house, mindful of the unintelligible hum coming from the living room. I wondered where Dean had gone off too and hoped that he wouldn't get caught.

"...you need to eat something..." Mr. Manallo replied, his voice suddenly far too distinct.

I looked up at Sam in fear, realizing how close we were to being found. Sam surveyed the space around us for a moment, before pointing me toward the kitchen.

"You want us to split up?" I mouthed in surprise, preferring to be caught with him rather than alone. I also wondered why after what we had heard from Mr. Manallo, he thought hiding in the kitchen would be a good idea.

Sam nodded jerkily and made another pointed glance toward the kitchen before pulling out his phone and slinking away in the other direction.

I stood there frozen for a moment, when the sound of a phone ringing caused me to jump into action. I entered the kitchen as stealthily as I could, glad that I had trusted Sam's judgment when I noted the presence of a backdoor.

"Hello?" Mrs. Manallo's scratchy voice finally answered, sounding far too close for my taste.

I glanced back at the door in indecision. What if I went out there only to realize that I was trapped? What if someone saw me?

"Who is this?" I heard her demand, her voice having suddenly gone shrill.

I could then hear the deep pounding of a man's footsteps closing in and in a split second decision, I quickly slipped outside, my gaze darting around the small backyard in search of somewhere to hide.

A scream threatened to escape as a hand suddenly yanked me into the bushes. While my panic increased as the palm covered my mouth, it was the gruff voice in my ear that gave me pause.

"Bella, it's me," Dean whispered.

I calmed minutely, but my heart continued to pound from the sudden shot of adrenaline. With his chest pressed to my back, I realized I could feel his heartbeat—slow and steady, as if we weren't moments away from being caught by the Manallos.

I tried to focus on the methodical thumping, timing my shallow breaths with his slow ones. Unfortunately, the more I concentrated, the stranger I felt. Apart from Edward and my brief friendship with Jacob, I hadn't been particularly close to anyone.

My relationship with Edward had been comprised of delicate caresses that left my knees weak, and restraint that made my heart ache. With Jacob, it had been about stolen touches, hidden under the guise of friendship. I always chose to ignore them, worried that if I pushed him away, he would abandon me like Edward had.

The irony of that situation wasn't lost on me.

Although the awareness of Dean's closeness was unnerving—his arms wrapped around my waist, his chest pressed flush against my back, his breath puffing against my neck—it did prove distracting enough from our current predicament.

A good ten minutes went by and when I thought I might scream if I had to sit still a moment longer, Dean's hold loosened. Following his lead, I slowly crawled through the bushes framing the side of the house, pausing each time Dean thought he heard something.

It took time, but we eventually made it to the edge of the property and quickly slipped back onto the sidewalk. With Dean by my side, we walked calmly back to where they left the car to find Sam leaning casually against the passenger side.

"That was close," I sighed, glad to be back in the car.

"And a waste of time," Dean complained, rolling his eyes.

Neither of us would mention our closeness in the bushes, it seemed.

"I feel like there's something we're missing," Sam interjected, furrowing his brows in concentration.

I was inclined to agree with him. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something just out of sight—like a word on the tip of my tongue. This all seemed very familiar somehow, but I just couldn't put my finger on why.

"Three male victims—each one an only child," Sam summarized. "Sounds ritualistic..."

"Are you thinking they were sacrifices?" Dean asked.

"It fits, doesn't it?" Sam countered.

_Sacrifices?_

"What kind of sacrifices?" I asked curiously.

"Could be anything. People have been sacrificing humans for centuries. They could be doing it now for any number of pagan rituals."

"Need some rain for your crops? Just chant a couple words while you're hacking at your neighbor and—bam! You've got it by the bucketfuls," Dean interjected.

"So...pagan gods. They're real too? I mean—they actually existed beyond myth or legend?"

"In our line of work, you kind of have to assume everything is real," Dean pointed out, while Sam inclined his head in agreement.

"Wow."

"Yeah, compared to everything that's out there, vampires are a cakewalk."

"I'm beginning to see that," I murmured, recalling my encounter with Joseph Clancy's ghost with a grimace.

...

"So...what do you want me to do?" I asked one last time—anything to put off their departure.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face in irritation. Sam, who managed to hide his annoyance a little better, offered me a sympathetic smile.

"We're going to check out the bar again—see if there's anything we missed. Meanwhile, you can pose as an incoming Freshman wanting to get a sense of the campus.

Sam pointed at the local college whose parking lot we were currently idling in. I rolled my eyes at the gesture. I may have been stalling, but that didn't mean I had gone blind. Still, I followed his line of sight, biting my lip in uncertainty.

I was a terrible liar and without Sam or Dean with me, I was worried that everyone would see right through my act. Apart from that, I didn't want to give Joseph Clancy another opportunity to corner me. I had thought that after that ordeal, we had come to an understanding when it came to my being left behind. However, their current plans were unfortunately conflicting with that idea.

My unease must've been really obvious because Dean was now opening his door and climbing out.

"I'll go with her," he sighed. "Maybe there'll be something in their records on Denasy. You can handle the bar. Try pumping Melanie for some more information. She kind of seemed like she was hiding something."

Another sigh of exasperation joined his first at the mention of _the bartender_. I blushed at what Dean might consider 'pumping for information' and tried to shake the images that came to mind unbidden. I didn't really feel guilty for depriving him of that though. My worries over psychopathic vampires and ghosts definitely overshadowed any inclination Dean might've felt to deal with a pretty woman.

"I'll call you when we're ready to be picked up. You scratch her," Dean nodded toward his car, in which Sam was now in the driver's seat, "you're dead."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's threat and deftly maneuvered the car out of the parking lot. Dean tracked his beloved vehicle's progress for a moment before abruptly turning and walking toward the closest building. I hurried to catch up with him, trying to match his purposeful stride without tripping on anything.

I glanced nervously at him as his pace began to slow, aware that we were about to go our separate ways. I didn't want to smother him—Dean didn't seem like someone who would be able to handle that kind of attention—but I was increasingly worried about being alone.

After all, the last several times I had been left to my own devices hadn't gone too well. The most recent featured a ghost with personal space issues. The time before that—the creepy Mr. Denasy, and finally, the moment that started it all—my encounter with Laurent.

So, being alone...didn't seem like such a good idea.

"Do you have a cell phone?" he asked abruptly.

"No..."

Dean gave me an odd look, almost like he thought I was kidding. When I didn't say anything more, he continued.

"Alright, then. If you don't see me in an hour, come back here," he instructed, pointing to a bench underneath a nearby tree.

I nodded in agreement, glancing around nervously as he walked toward an administrative building, effectively leaving me alone once again.

I heaved a sigh, sweeping my hair out of my face after a gust of wind thrashed it about. Without a real sense of where I was going, I began to walk aimlessly deeper into the campus.

After a few minutes of wandering, I stopped at a bulletin board, relieved to find a map of the campus posted there. Scanning the names of the buildings, I tried to locate the one Sam told me to look for. The arrangement of the map was a kind of organized chaos that—much to my annoyance—took several minutes of searching before I was able to find it.

I felt awfully young standing there, like a child lost in the big, bad college campus. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, though the campus wasn't quite brimming with students now that the evening classes were starting.

I followed the directions I had gathered from the map, weaving between buildings and rushing students. Surprisingly, it wasn't long before I found the one I was looking for. With only a brief moment of hesitation, I pulled open one of the doors and entered.

Apart from a few stragglers scurrying off to their classes, the hallway was deserted. Bulletin boards littered with brightly colored flyers framed the vacuous space, each one trying to grain the viewer's attention. I paused to glance through them, but after realizing that they consisted mostly of roommate requests and textbooks for sale, I redirected my gaze to the doors.

Mr. Denasy's office turned out to be situated at almost the other end of the hall. Tacked on his door was a bright white name plate, nary a scratch on it, while the ones around it were scuffed and yellowed slightly with age. I wondered whether it was so pristine because it was new, or because his wife had gotten her hands on it. Even the notice tacked on his door about adding classes was pasted on the surface with precision.

"You're trying to add one of Denasy's classes?"

I turned toward the voice, surprised that someone had addressed me so directly. None of the other students had paid me any mind. The girl in question looked to be only a year or two older, though the distinct bags under her eyes made her look unnaturally weary. Her dark hair was twisted into a braid that fell over her shoulder, and looked just as ruffled as the rest of her appearance.

Although I knew that wasn't exactly my cover story—wanting to add Mr. Denasy's class—I found myself nodding. There was something about the way she had asked that made me want to see where this conversation would go. Her reaction to my confirmation only heightened my curiosity.

"Don't," she replied simply, but with enough emphasis in that one word that if I had actually been trying to add the class, I might've reconsidered.

"Why not?"

"You'd just...you'd be better off."

Her gaze kept darting to the door, as if she were worried he would overhear.

"Why would I be better off?" I persisted.

She was staring solely at the door now and I began to wonder if she was even listening anymore when she finally replied.

"I'm just trying to help you!" she huffed, obviously exasperated. "If you don't wanna listen, then that's your problem.

"No!" I reached for her when she tried to turn away. I shared her surprise at the vehement of my reaction, but pressed on. "I want to listen. I just...I need to know why."

"He doesn't treat his students right," she finally answered quietly before shaking off my grip and walking away.

 _Okay, that was weird_ , I thought.

When the girl—I didn't even know her name—was out of sight, I turned back to the door in quiet contemplation. It was obvious that something wasn't quite right with Mr. Denasy—a fact that I had already picked up on during our brief encounters. He hadn't behaved particularly negatively, but there was something so...unnerving about his presence—a subtle threat that even my supposedly lacking survival instincts picked up on.

I reached toward the door handle reluctantly, but paused midway.

Sam and Dean had asked me to try to find out more about Mr. Denasy through his students, but that didn't necessarily mean that I needed to interact with the man himself. I knew I was behaving cowardly, but I felt too drained from the ghost incident to deal with him.

However, as much as I didn't want to face what was behind that door, I couldn't bring myself to walk away either. Sam and Dean had trusted me to do this and although we barely knew each other, I realized that I didn't want to disappoint them. So, taking in a deep breath to steel myself for an encounter that would undoubtedly be unpleasant, I finally grasped the handle and pulled.

Unfortunately, at that same moment, whoever was behind the door had thought to push. I grunted in pain as the heavy door swung into my face, connecting with my nose. Although the blow hadn't been hard enough to break anything, I did lose my balance and ungracefully toppled to the ground.

"Oh, Miss Sullivan! Are you alright?" Mr. Denasy's voice exclaimed.

I couldn't quite make him out through the tears in my eyes. I was however, far too aware when his hands reached for me, presumably to help me up.

"I'm fine," I gasped quickly, jerking in surprise when his hands grazed the sides of my chest as he reached under my arms to help me stand.

"I am so sorry! Let me help you up," he insisted.

Mr. Denasy didn't remove his hands even as I finally regained my balance. In fact, if I wasn't so distracted by the pain, I could've sworn his thumbs had firmly begun to inch further around my chest. I tried to shake off his grip, but it was difficult when my hands were preoccupied with my nose. He persistently continued to hold onto me, claiming that I hadn't regained my balance quite yet.

"What's going on here?"

I jerked toward the voice that I had grown familiar with over the past few days, blinking back the tears in my eyes to see him better. Mr. Denasy's hands slipped away rather quickly and I breathed a sigh of relief at Dean's great timing.

"Just a little mishap with the door," Mr. Denasy supplied, cutting off my response.

Dean's stare remained on Mr. Denasy for a brief moment before shifting to me.

"Bella?"

"I'm fine," I answered reflexively, trying not to think about how that was the second time today that he had addressed me by my true name. "I was pulling open the door when he pushed and...nature took over."

"You should really be more careful," Mr. Denasy admonished.

I stared at him incredulously. Although I never shied away from taking responsibility for my own clumsiness, did he honestly think he had the right to very nearly _reprimand_ me?

I opened my mouth—to say what, I didn't know—but he beat me to the punch.

"What brings you here, anyway? Were you looking for me?" Mr. Denasy inquired with a smile.

I fidgeted under his stare, unconsciously glancing toward Dean for help. The cover story they gave me for the students wouldn't work on him and whether it was due to the throbbing pain in my nose or how unnerved I felt around this man, I was drawing a blank on viable explanations to give him.

"Well..." I began with no idea of what I was going to say, "I was—I mean, I'm here because—"

"I asked her to see about getting a slice of your wife's pie," Dean interjected, much to my relief. "We can stop by tonight," he added with a smile that even I could tell was a little forced.

My relief disappeared at the prospect of spending time with Mr. Denasy and his wife tonight. I tried to keep the grimace off of my face.

"Oh, Sarah would have loved that! Unfortunately, we're expected at a town meeting tonight," Mr. Denasy explained, frowning in disappointment.

I quelled the uncharacteristic urge to pump my fist in the air in victory, in favor of a more somber expression.

"That's too bad..." I offered, hoping he wasn't able to detect the relief in my voice.

The eyebrow Dean raised in response contested to my lack of success. I cleared my throat, trying to mentally dial down the blush I could feel spreading across my cheeks.

Mr. Denasy, fortunately, didn't seem bothered by my behavior, and only chuckled in reply. With another well placed reminder that his wife was waiting for him, he quickly turned to lock the door behind him before leaving us in the hallway.

I sighed in relief when he was gone, but hissed in pain when I unconsciously rubbed my nose. I risked a glance at Dean, frowning when I caught his eye.

"What?" I asked self-consciously.

"Did it really happen that way?"

I looked down at the floor in embarrassment, grimacing as I reluctantly confirmed the answer with a shrug. My head shot up when I heard a snicker.

"You've got to be the clumsiest person I've ever met," Dean chuckled.

"Yeah, yeah."

I walked away, rolling my eyes.

...


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re not cops, Bella,” Dean reminded me. “We’re hunters.”

"You didn't get a name?"

"No... She kind of stormed off before I could ask."

Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. I regretted letting that girl walk away before getting any more information, especially with the look of disappointment on Dean's face. Between that and having a door slammed in my face, I was beginning to think that I couldn't do anything right.

"It's not a big deal. We've got other leads," Sam supplied, offering me a reassuring half-smile.

I watched Dean push off from the car and slide into his seat without a word. Sam shrugged at his brother's behavior before following suit. I quickly did the same, hoping to keep from annoying Dean further.

...

"Sarah? If we don't leave now, we're going to be late!"

"Just give me another moment," Sarah yelled back. "This curl refuses to stay."

"You look fine, Sarah. One wayward curl would not be the end of the world."

Sam, Dean, and I listened quietly from our perch outside their window, careful to remain hidden. We watched Mrs. Denasy emerge from the bathroom, a curler still wrapped in her hair.

"Everything must be _perfect_ ," she replied, glaring at her husband meaningfully.

"Objects reflected in the mirror, are more beautiful than they appear," he quoted, rubbing the arm of her free hand.

"Save your poetics for your _precious students_ ," she hissed. "And don't touch me."

Mrs. Denasy ripped herself out of his grasp and stormed back into the bathroom. Oddly enough, Mr. Denasy seemed entirely unfazed by her hostility. I stared at the scene before us with furrowed brows, more unnerved by the couple with each passing second.

The brothers and I continued to quietly observe, until the pair finally left—Mr. Denasy with a freshly ironed tie and Mrs. Denasy with each perfect curl in place.

...

Although this was now the third break-in I had been apart of, I followed more cautiously than before. The earlier incident at the Manallos' home had increased my unease, despite our eventual escape. Who knew how long the Denasys' would really be gone, as any number of factors could send them bursting right through the front door.

Neither Sam nor Dean appeared particularly bothered, though they did cast the door a few extra glances once we were in. I wanted to ask about exit strategies, but the question seemed stuck on my tongue. A silence had descended on us, and though I felt stupid for not asking beforehand, I was loath to break it.

This time, the brothers seemed to take extra care in remaining close—whether as a precaution or from distrust, I didn't know. Regardless of their intentions, I was glad for the comfort their presence provided. While I may not have known them for very long, I knew I was safer with them rather than without. The incident with Joseph Clancy Jr. was proof of that.

We slipped quietly in and out of each room, sifting through paperwork and seeking out anything that the Denasys might not want to be found.

"A court subpoena for Terrance L. Denasy," Sam read aloud, flipping through the pile of documents he had found stashed in a desk.

"What was he charged with? Being a creeper?"

"Close." Dean raised an eyebrow. "Get this—he was charged with sexual assault by a Miss Nancy Higgins."

I grimaced, both disgusted and absurdly relieved that my uneasiness around him wasn't unfounded.

"I knew there was something off about that slimy bastard."

"He was found...not guilty."

"So he's sneaky enough not to get caught."

"That girl I met... Do you think that was Nancy?" I asked, remembering how adamant she was about avoiding Denasy's class.

"Could've been," Sam nodded, brows furrowed.

"Or another victim," Dean supplied, glancing my way.

I averted my gaze, trying not to think about how easily I could have become another.

"So, Denasy's a scumbag. But what's that got to do with the missing children?" Sam asked, thinking out loud.

"Do the other suspects have any priors?" Dean asked.

I fidgeted self-consciously as the brothers continued to rattle off facts to each other, the amount of effort they put into research evident. I had barely been able to contribute to the conversation, having failed to learn anything—not even the name of the one person I talked to. I was beginning to feel like dead weight—a chore for the brothers to lug around.

I hated feeling that way. Even as a child, I had always needed to be helpful. That was why the Cullens tended to drive me crazy. Between Alice's visions and Edward's protectiveness, I rarely had the opportunity to be useful. They called my refusal of their aid stubbornness, but really, I just wanted to add _something_.

Now that I was finally being given the chance with Sam and Dean, I was disappointingly failing to live up to that. I was hardly a hunter like either of them, but I wasn't completely new to the _strange_ either. I didn't want to be the obligatory damsel, a faceless entity in the background.

I frowned at that last thought, genuinely worried.

Sam and Dean were still exchanging info as they sifted through the Denasys' belongings, so when I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye, I decided to pursue it. The movement was probably just a result of the lighting, but I figured I should check it out. A tiny voice in my head warned that I was being reckless, but I couldn't seem to stop myself from venturing forward.

I quietly slipped out of Mr. Denasy's office, moving slowly down the hall. I peeked into a few of the rooms, but apart from the same eerie cleanliness of the rest of the house, nothing seemed amiss. I cringed as each door clicked shut, peering down the hall at one of the rooms.

The fact that its door wasn't closed caught my attention, since I was sure I hadn't seen Sam or Dean venture down here yet. If this were anyone else's house, I might have wondered if they had merely forgotten to shut it. However, I was inside the home of the most freakishly orderly _humans_ I had ever met, and it seemed entirely odd for them to have left this one door ajar.

I stepped through the door cautiously, glancing around the room. The walls were painted a pale blue color and the carpet retained the same cream color as the rest of the house. A small bed decorated in the same colors sat pushed up against the wall.

The bed was too small for an adult, though it hardly seemed like a child's room. Apart from a wooden shelf filled with antique toys, there wasn't anything childish in sight. In fact, the wooden figurines looked so old that they might break if they were handled too much.

I looked around at the pristine bedroom, thinking about the boy who used to sleep in here.

"What a sad childhood," I frowned, recalling the bright yellow Renee had once painted the walls of my room, merely because I mentioned a fondness for the color.

Although no one could ever really call Renee a conventional mother, they couldn't call her stifling either. Despite all of her faults, I was grateful that I had a mother so willing to embrace my interests. I sighed, wondering how Renee was fairing. Charlie would've called her and there was no doubt that she was freaking out. I rubbed at my eyes, hoping to dispel those thoughts.

I nearly jumped when I dropped my hand and saw him.

"Hello?" I spoke, swallowing hard. "What's your name?"

The boy only stared at me, remaining silent.

"Where are your parents?" I asked uneasily, wondering where he had come from.

When the boy suddenly flickered to my side, I nearly shrieked with the realization that he was a ghost. Memories of Joseph Clancy Jr. had me nearly tripping over my feet in an effort to back away. The door slammed shut and I grasped the doorknob tightly, but couldn't seem to get it to turn. Shooting a quick glance back at the boy, I prepared to scream for Sam or Dean.

I exhaled, pausing at the sight of the boy's dead stare. It took a moment, but my panicked thoughts finally registered the fact that this boy was probably Derek Denasy, and that meant that he was quite obviously...dead.

The sound of another door slamming coupled with the yells of Sam and Dean, echoed down the hall.

My gaze shifted back to the boy, and I wondered what he would do next. The bruises from Joseph Clancy Jr. were still very new, as were the memories of that encounter. When the boy remained still, I wet my lips to speak.

"What do you want?" I croaked, nearly wincing as the question came out.

The boy slowly raised his arm to point behind me. I glanced back at the door reluctantly, giving the knob an experimental turn. To my surprise, it opened easily, though I could hear a harsh banging coming from Mr. Denasy's office. When I turned back around, the boy was gone.

"Hello?"

I whipped around suddenly, finding the boy standing stoically behind me. I took a hesitant step closer, my brows furrowing when he disappeared, only to reappear at the end of the hall.

"You want me to follow you?" I asked in realization.

The boy didn't reply, but I took his silent stare as confirmation.

The boy led me to the basement, sliding the locks open as he slipped through the door. I glanced back to Mr. Denasy's office in uncertainty. Although this ghost hadn't behaved particularly hostile toward me, I was still skittish after my last encounter.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself.

"You can do this," I breathed, opening the door.

I felt the wall for a switch, glancing up when the light flickered on. I wondered if the bulb needed to be replaced or if the ghost's presence was interfering with the electricity. Although I wasn't an avid viewer of horror movies, I seemed to recall that phantoms often had the ability to influence such things.

I moved slowly down the stairs, careful to watch my steps. It would be just my luck to survive vampires and ghosts only to break my neck falling down the stairs.

The basement was dark and dingy, covered in dust and grime. Although I was able to walk freely, there were many boxes stacked against the walls, appearing more cluttered than organized. The room was so vastly different to the rest of the meticulously clean house that I couldn't help but wonder if I had unknowingly entered some kind of parallel universe.

In a flash, the boy had moved to the far wall, simply standing there. He didn't seem to have any intention of really doing anything, except to stare at that wall. I approached cautiously, wary of getting too close, but curious.

Unlike the rest of the room, there were only a few water-damaged boxes lying against the bricked wall. I quickly nudged them aside, worried that the cardboard would give away if I tried to lift them. When I glanced back over at the boy, I realized that he had gone.

I took his place in front of the wall, unsure of what I was supposed to see. Hesitantly, I swept my fingers across the bricks, feeling their rough texture. Like the boxes, these were similarly damp. I surveyed the strange wall curiously, wondering what could be the source of the wetness.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that one of the bricks seemed to be a little loose. Thoughts of hidden messages and Poe came to mind as I contemplated the importance of this spot and the ghost that had led me here.

I dug my nails into the open crack around the loose brick, shifting it side to side in order to free it. It was a slow process, but eventually the piece slipped out. The rest weren't quite as difficult to remove, which I realized must mean that the wall was recently put together.

When the hole was a decent size, I slipped my hand inside, silently hoping that there wasn't anything dangerous inside. I felt around, pausing when my fingers trailed over something soft and another piece that was slightly rougher. Grabbing the object, I pulled it into the light.

The soft fabric belonged to a blue shirt, while the rougher piece turned out to be a pair of jean shorts. Both articles of clothing were small and identical to what the ghost boy had been wearing. My hand was shaking as I reached back into the hole again and wrapped my fingers around the another item—this time, something smooth.

"Bella! Are you—"

The voice cut off at the sight of the object in my hands. I could barely believe my own eyes as I quickly dropped it onto the ground, staring at it in horror. Between the rumpled pair of clothes and the ghost that had led me here, there was little doubt in my mind that this child-sized bone belonged to the late Derek Denasy.

...

The brothers were talking, but I couldn't quite hear them as their voices had dissolved into a sort of unintelligible buzz in the background. Although I had already come to the conclusion that the boy was dead upon seeing his ghost, the real flesh and bone—in a manner of speaking—physical manifestation of that was far more disturbing.

I blinked as Dean suddenly took a hold of my arms. He seemed to be trying to ask me something. Taking a deep breath, I pushed my shock away so that I could answer him.

"What?"

"How did you know where to look?" Dean asked, nodding toward the wall.

I followed his gesture to see Sam reaching into the hole. When he began to pull out the rest of the bones, I quickly averted my gaze back to Dean's face.

"Derek...Denasy," I whispered, struggling over his name, before swallowing and raising my voice, "he led me to them."

"He led you?" Dean repeated in disbelief.

I nodded in confirmation, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. I had watched a vampire get burned alive—I could handle this.

Apparently Dean didn't quite agree because he began to shuffle me away from the scene.

"Why don't you take a seat while we finish up?" Dean suggested, though he spoke in a tone that booked no argument.

"I can handle it," I protested anyway, unnerved, but unwilling to show weakness.

Dean paused from his attempts to get me to sit down.

"You just found a kid's bones hidden in the wall. No one should be able to handle that," he replied in an even tone, his expression unreadable.

I had no idea how to reply to that and therefore found myself unintentionally sitting on the stairs as I watched Dean walk over to Sam, considering his words. I wondered if Dean was more affected by all of this than he let on and if not, then what kind of person did that make him?

...

"Is that strange?" I asked, noticing the quick look Dean shot at Sam.

"Spirits need a physical connection to remain behind. Hair, fingernails, bones. They're pretty protective of whatever is tethering them here. Especially around Hunters," Sam spoke, still inspecting the hole in the wall.

"Why especially Hunters?"

"Because we're the ones who send them packing."

"How?" I asked curiously, remembering how strong Joseph Clancy Jr. had seemed. I glanced at Dean, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Salting and burning the remains," Sam supplied instead.

"What happens to them?"

Sam and Dean exchanged another look.

"We...don't really know," Sam answered honestly.

I thought about Derek Denasy, unconsciously worrying my lip. Despite being a little creepy now that he was a ghost, he was still a child. What if where the brothers were sending him was somewhere really horrible?

"You're not going to...do that...to Derek Denasy, are you?" I asked quietly, glancing at the small pile of bones Sam was still removing from within the wall.

Dean regarded me strangely. "Of course we are."

"But he helped us!" I argued, unnerved by his matter-of-fact tone.

"He's a ghost, Bella," Sam pointed out calmly.

"He's also a child," I reminded him.

"It doesn't matter."

I turned to face Dean in shock.

"It doesn't matter? How can you—"

"He's a ghost, Bella," Dean repeated, cutting me off. "Whatever he was before, that's gone. It doesn't matter how good he was or how much he's helped us because soon all that's gonna be left is an angry spirit."

I glanced at Sam and grimaced when he nodded. The idea of that poor boy becoming like Joseph Clancy Jr. was more disturbing than the alternative. I hated to think it, but if he was destined to turn into _that_ , then maybe he was better off somewhere else.

"What about the police?" I asked suddenly.

"As far as these people are concerned, we _are_ the police."

"No, I mean, if the Denasys _did_ kill Derek, then won't they need his bones for evidence? If you burn them—"

"We'll be stopping the spirit from hurting anyone," Sam cut in.

"But what about—"

"We're not cops, Bella," Dean reminded me. "We're hunters."

I stared at Dean oddly.

"So? Don't you care that they murdered their son?" I asked in disbelief.

"Of course we care," Sam sighed. "But—"

"But it's not our job to convict killers. Not unless they're doing the demonic boogie."

My gaze shifted between each brother, noting the finality their words carried. As much as I wanted to deny it, they did have a point. Hunting, while it did involve quite a bit of deduction, wasn't really the same as tracking criminals.

The Cullens had often taken the law into their own hands too.

I folded my hands in my lap, scratching at my jeans. I tried not to think about what Sam and Dean were going to do, but my thoughts were of little else.

...

I hid away in the bathroom once we returned to the hotel room. I knew it was a little childish, but I just couldn't face them after watching them burn that poor boy's bones. Although I understood their reasoning, I couldn't stop thinking about the Cullens.

As vampires, they were expected to be vicious—and maybe they had the potential to be if they were really provoked—but they weren't evil. Despite the expectation, they were compassionate and kind, denying the stereotypes so frequently applied to their species.

Maybe the brothers were right and it was inevitable that Derek would become like Joseph Clancy Jr., but what if they weren't? After what the boy had done, didn't he deserve a chance?

I slipped in the shower, scrubbing my body tiredly, ineffectively trying to wash away the guilt.

…

When I emerged from my shower—feeling refreshed, but not quite clean—I found the brothers discussing Derek Denasy and his actions tonight.

"Why would he lead us to his remains? He had to have known we'd burn them," Dean asked, though the question didn't seem to be addressed to anyone in particular.

"What about the bones? They looked like they'd been—"

"Licked clean," Dean supplied.

I stilled, feeling some sort of twinge in the back of my head. It was the kind of intangible discomfort that came when something sparked a memory, but I couldn't quite access it. I frowned in frustration when nothing directly came to mind.

I quickly shook those thoughts away when I realized one of them had addressed me.

"What?" I asked, embarrassed that I had been caught zoning out.

"We picked up some food while you were in there," Dean repeated, jerking his thumb toward the bathroom.

I glanced at the table, noticing the take-out containers. I sighed internally, wondering if I'd ever find my way to a kitchen again. If Victoria or Joseph did manage to kill me, I'd hate not to get one last home cooked meal.

"Oh…thanks," I replied lamely, scurrying over to the table.

I could feel the brothers' eyes on me as I began to eat, but I pretended not to notice, still unsure of what to say to them. Although I didn't regret the way I spoke to them earlier, I was worried I had overstepped my boundaries. I was amazed that they had allowed me to accompany them and even listen to what I had to say. I knew it was mostly a precaution after I had been attacked by Joseph Clancy Jr., but I was still grateful that they were treating me almost like…an equal.

That thought in itself was strange, considering how little the Cullens had seemed to value my input. Sure, they would allow me to speak, but there was always this feeling that they weren't quite listening, this knowledge that regardless of what I had to say, they knew better. After all, their mental capacity reached much farther than my own.

Maybe Sam and Dean didn't put much stock in my words either, but I couldn't help feeling that they were more open to it. They had far more experience dealing with the supernatural, but they were also human. We may not have been equal, but there was this potential to be that I had lacked with the Cullens, since they refused to allow me to become one of them.

I sighed in resignation, pushing away my food, which I had barely touched anyway. I lifted my gaze to the meet each of the brothers, who were pretended not to have been watching.

"I'm sorry about earlier," I spoke quietly, though I hoped that didn't discount the sincerity of my words.

Their attention shifted back to me, but they remained silent.

"Not about what I said," I hastened to explain, looking down at my food. "But I'm sorry for how it came out. I know you have more experience with this than I do…" I glanced up, before quickly looking back down. "It's just…" I trailed off, unsure of how to explain myself.

"We understand," Sam finally spoke, much to my relief. "It's never easy…doing what we do."

"I'm beginning to see that," I replied with an uneasy sort of smile that felt foreign on my face.

"I'm going to bed," Dean said suddenly, unbuttoning his jeans, "before you two start hugging or something."

Sam rolled his eyes, obviously used to his brother's antics. I, however, was too busy trying not to blush as Dean slipped out of his jeans, unconcerned with his audience. I took a quick gulp of soda in an effort to cool my blush, forced my gaze to his face, and nearly choked when he winked at me.

...


	6. Part VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Impersonating federal officers, breaking and entering, hunting ghosts... That's one hell of a job."

Despite nightmares filled with homicidal vampires and ghost children, I was ready for the next day, determined to learn something new. The brothers similarly seemed to be getting anxious, and I wondered if their cases usually progressed a lot quicker than this.

Our first stop for the day—after grabbing some breakfast—was the hospital. Dr. Fields had called with some information he wanted to discuss concerning Kelly Tanner's injuries. Although it didn't sound all that promising, it was a lead. While Dean followed Dr. Fields to his office, Sam and I decided to check in on Kelly Tanner.

"Now list my son…"

The voice broke off as we entered the doorway, where we found Mrs. Clancy reading by Kelly's bedside. While I was surprised to see her there—despite knowing that she visited her sister often—there was something else nagging at the back of my mind.

"What are you doing here?" Mrs. Clancy asked, her voice far more animated than I had ever heard before.

Her rude words and Sam's explanation didn't concern me though because something had triggered a memory that I couldn't quite grasp.

_Now list my son…_

I chewed on my lip, furrowing my brows.

_Now list my son…_

Where had I heard that before? It sounded so familiar, but I couldn't quite…

_Now list my son…_

Suddenly, I remembered that book on the table beside Kelly's bed. The book was no longer there, but one quick glance at the cover of the book in Mrs. Clancy's hands confirmed where it had gone.

"What book were you reading from?" I blurted, interrupting their conversation, which I hadn't heard a word of.

Mrs. Clancy eyed me warily, but held up the book.

"It's Kelly's favorite. She always loved reading, especially older literature. She wanted to be a Medievalist," Mrs. Clancy explained, her tone growing sadder near the end.

"May I see that book?" Sam asked.

I glanced over at him, noting the look in his eyes. He seemed to have realized something too, least of all that whatever was in that book was somehow very important.

Mrs. Clancy clutched the book almost protectively, her eyes wary.

"Why? It's just a book," she replied defensively.

"Humor me," Sam advised, though the note of authority in his suddenly hard voice offered no disagreement.

Mrs. Clancy had heard it too and despite her reluctance, she eventually stood and handed the book over. I stood at Sam's side, glancing at the book as he skimmed it, recognizing it immediately.

"The Lover's Confession," I read aloud.

It was a story I remembered coming across when Carlisle had given me free reign of his library. It was one of the few books that I had actually allowed myself to borrow, considering that it was a newer edition. It had seemed strange for something so new and easily replaceable to be among his collection, and I had often wondered if he hadn't bought the copy merely for that reason.

"I've read that before…"

"How often do you read this to her?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know," Mrs. Clancy ground out, her tone as hard as his. "It was her favorite."

"That's the story of Procne, Philomela, and Tereus, who—oh god," I gasped, realization dawning.

All of our eyes jerked toward the door as it suddenly slammed shut. My eyes widened in fear as the cause materialized in front of the only exit, gaze locking with mine.

"Joseph?" Mrs. Clancy gasped, staggering backward.

Sam pulled a shotgun from within his coat, taking a quick shot at the ghost. Mrs. Clancy screamed as he avoided the shot and appeared behind Sam, slamming him against the wall before he could fire another. I watched in horror as Sam's gun slid under the bed and he slumped to the floor, knocked out from the blow.

Joseph Clancy Jr. paid no mind to his mother, his gaze once again locked with mine.

"There's no one to save you now, bitch," he sneered.

I backed away, stiffening when I hit the wall behind me. Joseph Clancy Jr. was stalking toward me, while Mrs. Clancy sat huddled in the corner, her expression horrified at the sight of her son. The door was most likely locked and the window behind me was out, being that we were on the third floor.

There was another window beside the door and before I made a conscious decision to, I was already darting toward it. The ghost allowed me to run around him, but before my fingers could touch the glass, I felt myself being jerked back harshly by my hair.

I screamed at the pain in my scalp, but was cut off as I was thrown to the floor, the wind knocked out of me. It took a moment for my disorientation to recede enough for me to notice the banging on the door and the sound of Dean's voice.

"Bella! Sam!" he yelled through the door.

"Sam's been knocked out," I hollered back. "Joseph Clancy Jr. is—"

I was cut off as Joseph Clancy Jr. wrapped his hand around my throat, squeezing viciously. His other hand slipped to my jeans. I struggled against his hold, but his grip on my neck was too tight and I was beginning to feel lightheaded from the lack of air.

I distantly heard the sound of glass shattering.

"Fun's over, asshole," Dean's voice filtered into my hazy thoughts, before the ghost's grip was suddenly gone.

Dean lifted me into an upright position while I choked on the influx of air.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I was about to reply when Joseph Clancy Jr. reappeared behind him, a snarl on his face.

"Dean! Look out!" I croaked out.

Dean jerked around, barely managing to avoid the ghost's blow. I watched them for a moment, but quickly shifted my attention to Mrs. Clancy, who was mumbling to herself. That was when I recalled what we had been discussing before her son made an appearance.

The story was much too familiar for it to be a coincidence. I knew now what had happened to Joseph Clancy Jr.—the same thing that had happened to Procne's son.

"Mrs. Clancy," I tried to get her attention, but she didn't seem to be listening, her gaze focused on the ghostly form of her son.

"Mrs. Clancy!" I shouted, shaking her shoulders. Her terrified gaze finally shifted to me. "I know you're scared, but we need your help.

I waited, making sure that she was listening before I continued.

"I need to know where you hid your son's bones."

I had her full attention now.

"I—I don't—" she sputtered.

"We know you killed him," I interrupted. "But that doesn't matter right now. We need to stop him and to do that, we need his bones."

Mrs. Clancy's gaze drifted to her son once again, the terrified look in her eyes shifting to determination as it slipped to her sister's unconscious form. She nodded at me, her expression steely.

Another shot was fired and I turned around to see Joseph Clancy Jr. fade from sight in a cloud of ghostly smoke. Sam must have come to while I was talking to Mrs. Clancy because he was on his feet once again, slipping his shotgun back underneath his coat.

…

We entered Mrs. Clancy's house warily, each of the brothers holding a shotgun in their hands. Knowing where she was leading us, we suspected that Joseph Clancy Jr. wouldn't be far away. In fact, we were kind of expecting it.

I waited with Dean in the living room while Sam accompanied Mrs. Clancy further into the house. My reflection in a nearby mirror caught my attention and I slowly raised my hand to one of the dark fingerprints that had manifested itself on my red skin.

"How's your neck?"

I jumped at the sound of Dean's voice, quickly dropping my hand. When I turned, his gaze shifted from the mirror to my neck.

"Fine," I replied automatically, my words notably less scratchy than before.

Dean nodded, though I could tell that he didn't quite believe me.

"I've had worse," I explained, though as his gaze shifted to mine, I realized that maybe I shouldn't have.

I braced myself for an unpleasant line of questioning.

"Yeah, me too," he replied instead, much to my surprise.

I opened my mouth, unsure of how to reply to that, but found my voice as Joseph Clancy Jr. suddenly appeared behind Dean.

"Dean!"

My warning came too late, as Joseph Clancy Jr. flung him across the room, knocking the gun out of his hands. This time the ghost followed Dean, who was already pulling himself back up to his feet. Without his gun, however, Dean was no match for the incorporeal being.

I watched in horror as Joseph Clancy Jr. began to choke him. I wasn't sure why Sam hadn't found us yet, but that didn't matter. Dean was running out of time, his body weakening before my eyes as he struggled helplessly against the ghost's hold.

I glanced around desperately for something to use, remembering what the brothers had once said about iron being useful in fighting off ghosts. Unfortunately, the Clancys didn't have a fireplace and I was beginning to panic when my gaze settled on Dean's discarded shotgun.

I darted toward it, grabbing the shotgun and quickly aiming it at the back of the ghost's head. I tried to calm down, afraid I would miss in my frenzied state. I settled the butt of the gun against my right shoulder, titling my head.

I focused my line of sight down the end of the barrel to the ghost, taking a deep breath before pulling the trigger. I gritted my teeth against the force of the kick back, which I knew would probably leave a bruise.

The ghost vanished in that same smoky manner he had earlier, releasing his hold on Dean.

"Dean! What happened?" Sam asked, rushing into the room with Mrs. Clancy not far behind.

Sam's gaze shifted from the crumpled form of his brother and settled on the gun in my hands. My eyes widened at how this must look.

"I—" I tried to explain, but Dean interrupted.

"Clancy showed up while you were gone. Bella—where did you learn how to shoot like that?" Dean cut himself off, staring at me.

"My dad's the Chief of Police in a small mountain town," I shrugged sheepishly. "How else do you think I spent my summers? Fishing and shooting."

Dean's lips quirked up at this and I chewed on my lip, uncomfortable with everyone's attention focused on me. I handed Dean the gun as he stood, glancing away as I quickly searched for something to break the silence. I noticed the bundle in Mrs. Clancy's arms.

"Are those the…?" I trailed off, uncomfortably.

Mrs. Clancy took a deep breath, nodding wordlessly. She handed Sam the bones, avoiding our gazes. We followed Sam to the backyard, watching as he spread them out on the dirt. He took a can of lighter fluid from inside his coat and squeezed it onto the bones.

Dean pulled out a lighter, flicking it onto the pile. The three of us watched silently as the remains of Joseph Clancy Jr. burned, putting an end to his ghostly assaults.

…

When we reentered the house, Mrs. Clancy was sitting at the kitchen table, much like she had when we first spoke with her two days ago. This time, there was a sense of defeat to her otherwise emotionless exterior.

"You killed him."

Mrs. Clancy exhaled when Sam spoke, but otherwise remained unaffected.

"You're not cops," she finally spoke, though her voice lacked accusation.

"No, we're not," Dean confirmed. "Why did you kill him?"

Mrs. Clancy didn't reply right away.

"He deserved it," she said eventually.

I mulled over her response. When I learned that one, or possibly both, of the Denasys had killed their son, I had been horrified. However, after my many encounters with Joseph Clancy Jr., I knew I didn't feel quite the same about his death.

"Your sister…" I spoke slowly, almost unwilling to speak my thoughts aloud. "It wasn't just a hit and run, was it?"

Mrs. Clancy clenched her hands into fists.

"She tried to warn me. She said Joseph had been giving her these looks. I thought—I thought she was jealous," Mrs. Clancy grimaced. "When she said my son was joining in… I—I told her she was making it up."

The three of us watched as Mrs. Clancy's disinterested façade slipped away.

"They attacked her. And when she finally got away…when she tried to get help…they…they stopped her," her voice shook. "What kind of monster would do that? To his own aunt? _To my sister?_ "

"So you decided to get revenge," Dean supplied.

"Using this for inspiration," Sam added, producing Kelly Tanner's book from within this coat.

He must have swiped it after the commotion. I watched Sam flip to the correct page, while Dean looked at it curiously. Noticing his confusion, I hastened to explain.

"The Lover's Confession. It's a story about how a husband…rapes…his sister-in-law and cuts out her tongue so she can't tell anyone. When his wife learns the truth, she and her sister get revenge by..." I trailed off, the rest of the explanation dying in my throat.

"By killing and cooking the husband's child and feeding it to him," Sam finished.

Dean's gaze snapped to Mrs. Clancy.

"So your sister gets hurt and you make your husband go all Hannibal Lecter?" Dean remarked. "That's just sick."

"What I don't understand is why you didn't just turn them in," I wondered aloud.

"Because I wanted to hurt them," Mrs. Clancy ground out, her jaw clenched.

"And if they got arrested, you wouldn't have been able to host your own cooking show from Hell."

Mrs. Clancy glared at Dean, but didn't comment.

"I understand wanting revenge for what your husband and son did to Kelly. But why did you kill Derek Denasy and Elias Manallos?"

Mrs. Clancy looked up at Sam in shock.

"I didn't kill them," she replied, and I was surprised to note the almost worried edge to her tone. "I thought they were just missing?"

"We found Derek Denasy's body last night. There was nothing left of him but his bones. They had similar marks as your son's. As if they had been handled with cooking utensils," Sam revealed.

I looked at him in surprise. Although I had discovered Derek's bones, I hadn't gotten a close look at them. The thought of examination had been far from my mind, too disturbed by what I had found. That was when I remembered our trip to the Manallos' house and the dirty pot I had found in their kitchen. Even now, I could recall the foul stench of the rotten flesh that still coated it.

"When we were at the Manallos' house," I spoke suddenly, "I found this used pot in their kitchen. It was coated in some kind of rancid meat. It sort of looked like pork, but it wasn't. And it smelled… It was the kind of smell that burned your nose even after you left."

Sam and Dean's attention quickly shifted to me.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" Dean demanded, his tone nearly accusing.

"I didn't think it was important," I replied sheepishly, embarrassed over my blunder. "And I kind of…forgot about it until now," I admitted, blushing.

Dean rubbed his face tiredly, but didn't comment further, for which I was grateful.

"But if you didn't kill them, then who did? Three missing boys, all with fathers who have been accused of sexual assault. That can't be a coincidence."

"Unless all of the victims were fans of old literature," I quipped, but regretted doing so when the brothers glanced at me again.

After my error of judgment with the dirty pot, it would probably be in my best interests to keep quiet and fade into the background.

"That's—wait. What if it was Kelly?" Sam suggested suddenly.

"Kelly? But she's in a coma," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but there have been cases of people who wake from comas and claim to have had an out-of-body experience while they were under. What if that's what's happening to Kelly?" Sam replied.

"You think she's singling out the wives and making them reenact that story?" Dean asked, receiving a nod from Sam in return. "But why? When her sister already got her revenge for her?"

"Maybe it's not about revenge. When Philomela gets attacked in the story, revenge isn't really the first thing she has in mind. At least, not the kind like she gets later," Sam explained.

"She wanted to tell everyone," I interjected, realization dawning. "She wanted everyone to know what he'd done. She wanted to shame him."

"Exactly."

"But she didn't get the chance because he cut out her tongue…" Dean continued.

"Like how Mr. Clancy and his son ran over Kelly and put her in that coma—to stop her from telling," I added, noting the similarities in a horrified sort of awe.

"Stop it!" Mrs. Clancy shrieked suddenly. "Kelly wouldn't do that!"

"She _is_ doing it. And unlike your son, those other boys were innocent. She's making their mothers murder them because _you_ won't tell the truth," Dean replied, his tone hard.

"You're wrong!"

"Who are you protecting? Your husband had as much of a hand in what happened to Kelly as your son did. Probably a lot more. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the hit and run was his idea."

"Shut up!" Mrs. Clancy yelled shrilly, covering her ears.

I could do nothing but stare in silence at the state Mrs. Clancy was in. After the cold and collected persona I had encountered over the last couple of days, seeing her so riled up was extremely disconcerting. Even when her dead son had materialized in the hospital and began choking me, she hadn't looked so bothered.

"You…you still love him…don't you?" I asked quietly.

Mrs. Clancy glared harshly at me, but her fury didn't last long. I watched as her anger faded away and her shoulders slumped in defeat. It seemed that despite what her husband had done and what she had done in return to him, her feelings for him remained.

"I know it's hard…loving someone who has done terrible things. But your sister isn't going to stop until you tell. She's going to keep killing boys—children who aren't really guilty of anything, but coming from a bad gene pool."

I managed to keep my gaze leveled with hers during my whole speech, aware of how hypocritical it truly was. I had loved Edward, despite the deeds he had done. However, as horrible as it sounded now, I hadn't been bothered by it, always citing the murders he had committed as something he couldn't really control. I was almost proud of him, in fact, for being able to find a way to curb his bloodlust without hurting innocent people by targeting the guilty.

So I didn't really know how Mrs. Clancy felt because although I had loved Edward despite his past, I hadn't been truly horrified by his misdeeds, which had seemed too distant and disconnected with the Edward I knew. Mrs. Clancy had real horrors to deal with and I wondered if my love for Edward would be able to withstand such trials. While a big part of me believed I would love Edward no matter what, I couldn't imagine how I would feel in Mrs. Clancy's place.

"I'll—I'll go to the station now," Mrs. Clancy finally replied in a shaky voice, her expression resigned.

When I glanced away, I noticed the brothers' stare. I quickly averted my gaze, wary over what I might have just revealed about myself.

...

The truth about Kelly Tanner had been revealed and although Mrs. Clancy was now facing some charges for obstructing justice as well as murder, her husband was now behind bars. Apparently, Dr. Fields had found some strange markings on Kelly's body upon being brought in, which was what he had wanted to discuss with Dean. That evidence was going to help the police convict Mr. Clancy.

After some interrogation, Dean had learned that Mr. Clancy had threatened Dr. Fields into silence. Normally, Dr. Fields wouldn't have allowed himself to be bullied, but when his teenage daughter was brought into the mix, he had resigned himself to silence.

Once he heard of Mr. Clancy's arrest, Dr. Fields had no problem with coming forward with his findings.

Since Kelly had been responsible for the murders of Derek and Elias through possession of Mrs. Denasy and Mrs. Manallos, the brothers had opted out of mentioning them. They hadn't had any control over their actions and the guilt over what they had done would probably be punishment enough.

Despite the lack of tangible proof that Kelly Tanner wasn't going to pick back up on targeting wives and sons, the brothers seemed confident that the case was closed. Of course, without any remains to burn, they couldn't be sure, so they left their number with Dr. Fields, instructing him to call if anymore children went missing.

Although I wouldn't quite call it happy, there was a nice sense of accomplishment that came with finally solving the case. I couldn't help comparing us with one of the great detectives, though I wouldn't quite call ourselves that. They weren't Sherlock and I wasn't Watson, but we had put an end to the murders and that was a nice feeling.

Thoughts of Edward, the Cullens, violating ghosts, and murdering mothers had slowly faded away as the brothers and I ate in one of Spokane's finest diners—at least, according to their menu.

"Impersonating federal officers, breaking and entering, hunting ghosts..." I listed off. "That's one hell of a job."

"You're telling me, Sweet Cheeks," Dean grinned. "You haven't even heard the best part."

"What's the best part?" I asked curiously.

The waitress stopped at our table, placing a dish in front of each of us with a pleasant smile.

"Pie?" I asked in disbelief, resisting the urge to laugh.

"Mhm," Dean confirmed, shoving a healthy amount into his mouth with a wide smile.

Sam and I shared a look and I shrugged, before digging into my own slice.

 _I've made better_ , I thought, smirking silently to myself.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lover’s Confession was written by John Gower. The book that was referred to in this story is The Norton Anthology of English Literature (Eighth Edition; Volume A; The Middle Ages).
> 
> The next episode will feature a surprise guest from Twilight.

**Author's Note:**

> TIMELINE:
> 
> February 4th — Victim 1 Disappears  
> February 19th — Victim 2 Disappears  
> February 26th — Victim 3 Disappears  
> March 4th — The Meadow Scene with Laurent (according to the Twilight Lexicon)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/621671) by [Miss_Snazzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Snazzy/pseuds/Miss_Snazzy)




End file.
